Grey Mirror Sky
by GemmaKat
Summary: After a werewolf hunt gone awry, the brothers find themselves agreeing to help a young woman hunt down the monster that killed her mother. But at what personal cost? OFC, romantic insinuation, relationship issues, mild angst.
1. Chapter 1

Grey Mirror Sky1

The trees formed an amorphous green and brown blur as Sam ran onwards, his eyes fixed on the crest of the hill above him, silhouetted against the grey, stormy sky. His feet slipped on the wet grass and he fell forwards, hands sinking into the mud, grass stains marring his blue jeans and tan jacket. The wind blew his dark hair into his eyes and he pushed at it impatiently as he struggled to his feet, smearing mud and grass across his forehead and cheek. Rushing onwards, he finally reached his destination, and there before him was a dark figure. As it turned, he saw from the silhouette that it was a woman, though her face was hidden beneath long, wind-swept hair and the hood of her coat. He reached out for her and his grip on her arm made her turn. He could see her face now. It was pale, so deathly pale, and her eyes were dark, seeming black under the overcast sky and in the shadows of the trees. And they glowed with frustration, anger, _hatred._

She was yelling at him, though he couldn't hear the words, and there was something in her hand, something silver and sharp that glinted in the low level light. And then they were both falling, sprawling in the mud, and almost as soon as he fell he was standing again somehow, and in the woman's place was something huge, and muscular, which smelt of wild animal, and which had huge, saliva dripping teeth that were racing towards his throat . . .

Sam awoke with a start, his breath catching in his throat and his eyes wide. Leaning forwards, he rested his elbows on his knees and took a deep breath, pushing his hair back and resting his head in his hands. He looked up, startled, when the motel door opened, and his brother Dean entered, carrying a greasy takeout bag and two cups of coffee.

"You're awake. Good. I think I might have found our next gig."

Sam stared at his brother for a while, letting the familiar sight ooze through his sleep-addled brain until he had a handle on reality again. At his silence, Dean frowned, throwing their takeout breakfast on the bed and handing his younger brother a coffee.

"Another nightmare?"

Sam nodded. "The same one. That woman again. I saw her face this time. She's young, like us, but so angry. She disappeared and this _thing_ replaced her. I think she's some kind of monster. That we're supposed to stop her."

Dean threw a newspaper onto Sam's lap.

"A monster, huh? Well, maybe we should be looking for her then. There have been five deaths in the woods up in Indiana. Each one has been described as a wild animal attack, even though researchers agree these aren't bear attacks, although one victim had their throat cut, which might mean there's a human element at work here, too."

Sam looked up sharply. "We have to get there, Dean. We have to get there now."

Dean grinned, flashing his pearly whites and looking decidedly devilish, almost feral. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Just over forty-eight hours later, the Winchester brothers were easing themselves out of Dean's car, carefully stretching their stiff legs and rolling their shoulders to banish the last remnants of discomfort after the long drive. They'd stopped in front of a diner, a large sign over it proclaiming that it belong to a guy named "Sammy Jo". The sun was high in the sky, though largely covered by thick, ominous looking clouds, and the wind was icy-cold, cutting right through Sam's jacket and making him shiver.

"Let's grab some lunch; maybe ask around about the fatalities." Dean nodded, and followed his brother into the diner.

A small bell jingled as they entered, and a petite, blonde waitress behind the counter looked up alertly before grabbing two menus and practically bouncing towards them. Dean settled himself in a booth seat and leant back to enjoy the view of the pretty waitress moving towards him, her short, polka-dotted skirt lifting with each step to show off a pair of fantastic legs.

Sam, noticing his brother's leering, rolled his eyes and kicked his ankle beneath the table, eliciting a glare from Dean that made him chuckle softly under his breath.

Having reached their table, the waitress (whose badge proclaimed, "Hi! I'm Mary! Ask about our specials today!") handed them the long, card menus, and took out a notepad and pen from her pocket.

"Can I get some drinks for you boys?" Her voice was surprisingly deep and husky for her tiny, fresh-faced appearance and all-American blonde hair, but this didn't prevent Dean from flashing her a winning smile.

"I'll have a root beer. Sammy will have a coke with lime."

Sam smiled at the waitress politely. "Yes, thank you."

She beamed at them both, mentioned that she'd be back in a few minutes to take their order, and bounced back behind the counter.

Dean shook his head as he watched her go. "Maybe we can stick around a little longer than planned, and have some fun."

Sam smiled ruefully but refused to comment. He'd heard it all before.

Leaning back in the booth, he stretched his long legs under the table and pulled a rolled up newspaper from his pocket.

"It says here that the woods aren't too far out, if the local map can be trusted. I think we should head up there tonight."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "You don't want to ask around first? Get a feel for what exactly we're hunting here?"

"I'm thinking werewolf."

Dean nodded. "Right time for it."

"Exactly." Sam looked grim, looking as if he were about to say more when Mary returned with their drinks.

After ordering some food, Dean gave Mary another winning smile.

"Mary, my brother here is a bit of a history buff. Local lore is what really does it for him. We heard on the radio coming in that an unusual amount of animal attacks occur around here. You know anything about that?"

Mary cocked a hip and crossed her arms, shifting her weight to get more comfortable in her heeled shoes.

"Oh sure, honey. It's so weird."

"Weird? How so?" Sam leant forwards on the table, smiling at her with open curiosity. She straightened a little under his gaze, and unconsciously smoothed the skirt of her uniform.

"Well, we get a few regular hunters coming through; they like to hunt bear up in the woods during the season, and sometimes outside. They tell me that the bodies were mauled by something as big as a bear, but stronger, faster. One guy, he headed the search for the last girl. Nice kid. She used to stop by here." Mary paused, looking thoughtful and a little sad, before continuing. "Anyway, this guy saw the body and said the claw marks were all wrong. Definitely not a bear, he said, and he's been hunting for twenty years."

Dean tapped the open newspaper on the table with one, long finger.

"Says here that one of the victim's had their throat cut by a manmade object, maybe a knife. You think maybe it's a serial killer? Some sicko hunting people instead of bear?"

Mary shrugged, her blue eyes darkening with emotion.

"Maybe. Who knows? I just know what I hear, and that's that some weird critter is out there, hunting people and doing ungodly things to the corpse. You won't catch me going to those woods, that's for sure." She shuddered, hard, and then her professional veneer returned as if it never left. Bustling up their menus, and offering to bring them fresh drinks, she bounced off to the kitchen without a backwards glance.

The brothers looked at each other over the tabletop.

"Definitely hunting tonight, then." Dean said, and Sam nodded.

It was almost completely dark by the time the Winchesters made it to the woods. Dean was busy sorting through the unusual equipment in the boot whilst Sam stood by the car, staring out into the dark woods with his shoulders hunched. It felt familiar, and he knew now that he could see the place up close, and smell the air, that this was the same wooded area as in his dream. There were no cars around, so wherever this woman, monster, whatever came from, she came on foot. He watched a tree-branch sway violently in the wind and shivered. An ominous feeling was settling on him like a shroud.

The boot slammed, and he turned round to face his brother, taking the weapons offered (a gun with silver bullets, a silver stake, and some skunk musk, good for distracting a fully changed werewolf and masking your scent if you needed to make a speedy retreat) and fitting them easily about his person.

"Now, we'll have to be quiet, but if she's changed she'll hear us no matter how careful we are. Just be alert." Dean's voice was commanding, and Sam found himself nodding obediently, even though he'd heard it all before and really didn't need to hear it again. He always ended up following Dean, somehow. Maybe because his brother always seemed so sure of himself.

As quietly as possible, they headed into the forest, scanning around them alertly and listening for any indication that they were being followed, or worse, hunted. They walked for a good ten minutes before they heard a howl off to their left. It was soft, almost stealthily, but it sent a primordial shiver of fear right down Sam's spine, and he felt like he'd been doused with ice-cold water. Eyes wide, he glanced at Dean, who motioned for Sam to follow him as, frowning in concentration, he crept through the brush.

They were just peering into a clearing when a scream ripped through the air. Without thinking, they set off; crashing through the bushes and into the clearing, where, ahead of them, dark against the stormy sky, was a hill. The hill from Sam's nightmare. The recognition caused Sam to run faster, harder, slipping in the mud as he overtook Dean, barely hearing him shout out for him to slow down and be careful. He fell in the mud at one point, and Dean pulled him up, so that together they were racing up to the top of the hill where they could see a figure, dressed all in black.

His heart in his throat, Sam raced on, grabbing Dean's arm harder and yelling for him to watch for a weapon.

The sky was darkly oppressive and there was an ozone smell pervading the world, as if a storm was ready to spill out across the plains. Everything felt dream-like, the memory of his nightmares colouring everything Sam saw and felt. Too soon the woman was before him, too quickly she was turning with that silver-item glistening in her hand. Sam reached for it, but this time Dean got there first, knocking it from the woman's grip with one smooth and accurate hit. She watched it fly from her hand, crying out at the attack and cradling her wrist to her chest. Then she was turning to them, just like in his nightmare, her eyes dark with anger and hate.

But something was wrong. Behind her, Sam could see a dark shape begin to rise from the ground where it had been camouflaged against the mud and grass. It was huge and muscular, and it was moving towards them with preternatural grace. Everything seemed to slow, and Sam could see now that it wasn't hatred in the woman's eyes but fear; a bone-deep fear tinged with the merest hint of annoyance.

"You idiots!" She managed to scream, and then the monster was upon her, its claws ripping into her side, seeming to hook under her ribcage before tossing her aside like she weighed nothing.

Dean was already pulling out his gun, and Sam fumbled for his as the werewolf bore down on them, its muzzle open in a frightening snarl. As he stepped backwards, tugging at the gun that was wedged under his waistband, he happened to glance down and saw that the sharp object the woman had been holding was a silver stake.


	2. Chapter 2

Grey Mirror Sky2

Jaime O'Flaherty came to slowly, sluggishly moving to consciousness like a figure wading through mud. As she became more alert, the pain in her body grew increasingly fierce, and involuntarily she let out a moan. There was movement to her left, and she forced her eyes open, her heart pounding in panic as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings and saw two figures advancing towards her. As they stepped into the light, she relaxed very slightly, looking at the faces of the men she had come to think of as her idiot-rescuers.

Propping herself up on her elbows, wincing at the pain that ripped through her, she carefully lifted her muddied shirt and looked at the bandages wrapped around her right side. Blood was oozing through the gauze already and dripping slowly down the curve of her side and onto the cheap motel bedspread.

"At least you took my advice and didn't drop me off at the hospital." Her voice was gruff, as if her throat was dry and sore.

"That wound needs stitches and you've lost a lot of blood. You really should stop by the ER."

Jaime looked at the dark, floppy-haired one (Sam, was it?). "I don't know whether I was bit yet, and there's no way in hell I'm going to a hospital until I know. At least with you two, I get the feeling that you'd shoot me if I changed."

She tried to sit up again, her pale face screwing up with pain at the movement. Dean watched her impassively, noticing how unhealthily pale she was, how the dark skin beneath her eyes had an almost greenish appearance in the cheap light of the motel room. He knew her injuries were bad, but he agreed with her. Until he knew whether she was going to turn gruesome-hairy, she wasn't going anywhere.

Unable to watch her struggling so pitifully on the bed, Sam stepped forwards to help her sit up, and she allowed him, though Dean noticed the flash of irritation that crossed her face. Now sitting, she paused, breathing heavily for a while, and then shakily made it to her feet, Sam hovering next to her as if he didn't know what to do with himself. Was this woman a threat, or not?

"Well, thanks for screwing up my hunt and then rescuing me. I appreciate you trying to fix the situation, but now I have to be going."

She almost made it to the door before she fell against the wall, breathing heavily, the colour completely drained from her face. "Or maybe not."

Sam was the one who fetched her, helping her back to the bed and crouching down beside it.

"Look, you can't go anywhere right now, not until you've rested."

"And not until we know who the hell you are. Or _what_ the hell. Tick whichever applies."

Jaime turned dark brown eyes to Dean and held his gaze for a time, looking serious. Finally, she let out a breath.

"In this state, I really can't argue with you, so let's cover the important points first. Was I bitten?"

Sam shook his head. "No, just cut up."

She nodded. "As for who I am, I'm getting the feeling I'm a lot like you guys." Dean quirked an eyebrow at this, crossing his arms and looking wary.

"And what do you think we are, exactly?"

Jaime sighed, pulling a twig from her messy hair and placing it primly on the bedside table.

"I'd say slayers because I'm a big fan of that TV show. Y'know, Buffy the Vampire Slayer? But, I guess you'd prefer to be called hunters. You find the supernatural nasties, and you kill them. Probably because someone you love was hurt by one. That's how people get into this line of business. That's how I got into it anyway." She sighed again, and looked up at Dean. "With the bonding out of the way, can I go now? If one of you guys help me to my truck, I'm sure I can make it back to my motel without passing out."

Dean shook his head, but her answer must have assuaged some of his concerns, as he moved to sit in one of the nearby armchairs, his fingers unconsciously pulling at the frayed threads on the arm-covers.

"You were investigating the so-called animal killings up there?"

Something flickered behind her dark eyes quickly and then she nodded.

"Yes. Same as you, right?"

Sam nodded. "That's right. Although I thought that maybe you were the monster."

Jaime smiled wryly at him. "I don't look that bad, do I?" She waved a hand as he started to reply. "Ok, my humour sucks. But I'm kinda in a lot of pain here. If you insist on holding me hostage, could I at least get some kind of painkiller?"

Sam jumped to his feet, hurrying to his holdall that was lying open between the two twin beds. "You're not a hostage, you're just too sick to move. And we, well, we haven't had a lot of great experiences with random women who show up and are connected to what we do."

Dean snorted. "That's the understatement of the year."

Sam returned to the bed, perching on the edge of it as he handed Jaime a tall glass of water and a bottle of Advil. "This is the strongest thing we have."

Jaime took them gratefully, and downed 3 pills in one dry gulp.

"No problem. If one of you can grab my stuff for me, I've got some Vicodin for later."

Dean stood, shrugging on his worn leather jacket. "Sure, hand me the keys to your motel room and I'll pick them up."

Jaime shook her head. "My bag is in my truck, not my room. Over on 3rd. It's big, black, muddy, and ugly. You'll spot it straight away." Rummaging in her jean pockets, she pulled out a ring thick with keys and tried to throw it across to Dean, gasping as the movement pulled at her fresh wound, and causing the keys to sprawl just short of the bed.

"Holy shit, that hurts!" She squeezed her eyes tight and leant back against the headboard, her breath coming heavy and hard again.

Sam placed a hand on her arm and turned concerned eyes to Dean. "Go get her stuff, ok, Dean?"

Dean nodded and strode towards the door, but paused before leaving, turning questioning eyes to his brother. Sam knew what he was thinking. "I'll be fine. Trust me. I was the one who first suspected Meg, remember?"

Dean sighed, "fine", before leaving.

Confused, Jaime turned curious eyes to Sam but he just smiled in that polite way of his and she turned her mind back to the agony of her side. Ok, bad idea. Focusing on the pain was making it worse. Needing a distraction, she looked around the motel, taking in the shabby curtains, stained carpet, and small twin beds. On the only table in the room, serving as both a dining area and workstation, were tons of newspaper articles, journals, a thick leather-cased book that seemed ready to burst at the seams, and an assortment of unusual weapons that she recognised as tools of their unusual trade. She was about to ask Sam about them, when he stood up and fetched a small medical kit from the bathroom.

"Your dressing needs to be changed."

Jaime looked down at her side, noticing the oozing blood once more. "Oh yeah, I guess so. Hand me some gauze."

Sam shook his head, sending his dark hair out of his soft brown eyes. "You can't change them yourself, it's too awkward a position, and it will just pull on the wound."

Jaime frowned, ready to argue when she noticed the pale, almost-healed scars in the shape of claw marks across Sam's face. Eyes moving downwards, she saw similar wounds on his neck and hands.

"Well, it looks like maybe you have experience in this area, so ok."

Jaime settled back against the thin pillows, holding her shirt up whilst Sam tended to her wounds. Staring at the ceiling to avoid watching his long fingers gently working on her shredded side, the image making her intensely uncomfortable due to its implied familiarity, she tried to make conversation.

"So, uhm, Sam, you been doing this long?"

"Patching up injuries? Or hunting monsters?"

"I'm guessing the two are intimately connected."

He chuckled softly, and flicked his gaze up to hers briefly, the mirth making his eyes warm.

"You'd be right, and I've been doing this for about 10 months, though I guess it all started when we were kids."

Jaime nodded, trying to hide her grimace as Sam pulled the last of the medical tape away from her tender skin. The gauze now removed, she looked down at her side and paled noticeably.

"Good god, was it trying to pull my ribcage out through my side?"

Sam chuckled again, carefully cleaning the edge of the deep claw marks with disinfectant.

"Looks like it, yeah."

After a few seconds without a reply, he looked up to see Jaime with her eyes closed, practically gulping air. He leaned further over her, concern deepening his voice.

"Are you ok? What's wrong?"

Her eyes flew open, and they were wide with dilated pupils. He watched as tiny beads of sweat sprung up on her forehead and her cheeks flushed bright pink against the deathly pale of her skin.

"Will you think less of me if I throw up? Oop, too late."


	3. Chapter 3

Grey Mirror Sky3

Later, propped outside the bathroom, her back flat against the wall and dressed in clean clothes, Jaime spoke through the door.

"I'm sorry again, Sam. Really. I don't usually do that." She paused. "Well, ok, maybe once or twice, but it was when I was fighting this Rawhide and he'd been feeding on children, and the blood was everywhere, and the _smell_. . ."

He interrupted her, his voice sounding tinny in the shower. "It's really no problem. Gross, but no problem."

Jaime sighed and raised her eyes to Dean, who was seated on one of the beds with a huge grin on his face. She frowned at him

"It's not funny."

His grin widened at this, and Jaime knew she was beat. Sighing and rolling her eyes, she waved a hand at him. "Gimme another half of that sandwich, please. Now that my stomach is empty, I'm kinda hungry."

Still grinning, Dean tossed the food at her, and she caught it clumsily, smiling with embarrassment as she almost dropped it on the dirty carpet.

"Wow, pukey, clumsy, I'm just the life and soul of the party, huh?" She blushed and averted her eyes as she said it, her faux-jovial act not fooling anyone.

The bathroom door creaked open and she peered up at a now freshly-washed Sam who was pulling a clean shirt over his head. He smiled down at her and helped her up. Leaning against him slightly as he escorted her to a more comfortable seat, she smiled ruefully. "Sorry again. I guess it's not everyday some woman pukes on you."

"You'd be surprised." Dean cracked, and Sam threw a nearby newspaper at his head.

Smirking, Jaime picked at the crust of her sandwich. "Well, I guess we've bonded as much as we're gonna. So what's the deal here, fellas? Am I free to go?"

Dean tilted his head to the side, watching her face thoughtfully as he chewed on a huge bite of deli sandwich.

"I still don't really know who you are, lady, and I'm not about to trust you but in your current state, I doubt very much you can do either of us harm. I don't think your desire to get away is an act, either, so you're free to go."

Jaime snorted. "Should I be flattered, or insulted?" She winked at Sam who was shifting uncomfortably at his brother's bluntness.

"I'll choose flattered. It's best for my ego." She carefully packed up her remaining food, and gingerly got to her feet, wincing only slightly as she straightened her torso.

"See? Almost good as new."

With a quick grin, she pinched the last fresh coffee from the table, snagged another sandwich, and hauled her duffel bag onto her shoulder, careful not to jar her wounded right side.

"Thanks for the patch up and the food, boys. And, good luck with. . . well, with everything, I guess."

She mock-saluted at Dean who smirked in response. Her eyes perhaps lingered on Sam's face just a little as she waved goodbye, and then she was gone, the motel door closing softly behind her.

Two weeks later she was crossing the state line out of Georgia when she saw a familiar face standing at the farthest gas tank at a passing petrol station. She didn't slow down, or even wave.

A week after that Jaime was drinking bitter, black coffee in a greasy-spoon as she browsed national newspapers for any supernatural activity. She was on an unofficial break whilst her injury healed but you don't just quit this business. You can't even holiday. As a breeze stirred the stale air of the café, she looked up to notice the brothers passing the window. They didn't see her, and she was too surprised to even try and hide.

Three days later, she passed their car on the highway. Jaime might not be the sharpest pencil in the box, but she wasn't dense. Something, or someone, was trying to tell her something, and it had to do with the Winchester brothers.


	4. Chapter 4

Grey Mirror Sky4

Sam was nursing a beer, trying to read a handful of newspaper clippings in the dim light of the dive Dean had chosen to be their venue that night. His laptop was tucked beneath his chair in its case, away from prying eyes and greedy fingers, and he was trying to ignore Dean's gestures to join him at the bar where three women were vying for his brother's attention. The whole issue with Sarah had definitely changed some of Sam's views on dating again, but he'd never be like Dean. He just didn't see the point in hooking up with largely anonymous women when they'd just be leaving town the next day. It still felt like too big a risk, no matter what his experience with Sarah had taught him.

He was just toying with the idea of leaving when he noticed a tall, dark figure making its way purposefully towards him. As they stepped out into the light, his expression morphed from blankly curious to recognition. Before him, with a small smile on her face, stood Jaime, the woman they'd rescued/annoyed during the werewolf hunt in Indiana. Sam remembered her well, not only because they'd inadvertently gotten her hurt, but because the vision that had led him there had been misleading. It worried him, and had been playing at the back of his mind since the incident.

Jaime gestured at the seat across from him. "Mind if I sit down?"

Sam shook his head, gathering up the clippings and napkins that littered the table, and falling over his words a little in surprise.

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean, Jaime, what the hell are you doing here?"

She chuckled and pushed a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. Her face, which had been so pale last time he'd encountered her, had a healthy rosy blush across her high cheekbones making her look like a completely different woman. In all honesty, he hardly recognised her, particularly due to the silver-framed glasses that she now wore. They made her look older. She was still, however, dressed entirely in black and dark greens, though now instead of the mud-stained combats of their last encounter, her long legs were encased in black jeans, a plain t-shirt half-tucked into the waistband. His trained eyes noticed the slight bulge near her right side, and he knew she was carrying.

She was about to answer him when Dean came up behind her, glancing at her quizzically though still gracing her with one of his oh-so-charming smiles. Sam somehow resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Jessica."

"Jaime," she corrected automatically.

"Jaime, sorry. What's going on?"

She shook her head. "You just get right to the point, huh, Dean? No pleasantries, no offering to buy me a beer."

Dean shrugged and grinned. "Ok, I'll get you a beer, but then we all need to talk." He gave Sam a serious look, indicating his suspicion at Jaime's return, but Sam just shook his head slightly and turned back to the woman facing him.

"Excuse him. He's suspicious by nature."

Jaime smiled. "It's ok, really. I can understand why. Your brother is smart."

Sam was about make a crack about that when he noticed the expression on her face and fell silent.

"C'mon, Jaime, what is this really all about?"

She sighed. "Let's wait until Dean returns, ok? You both need to hear this. Maybe it's me being nuts, but something is going on here, and it involves both of you."

They both fell into an uncomfortable silence; Jaime drumming her long fingers on the tabletop, whilst Sam fussed with his newspaper clippings. When Dean returned with their drinks, Jaime stood and gestured to a secluded booth at the back of the bar.

"Let's move somewhere a bit more private, ok, boys?"

They nodded and followed.

Later, toying with his empty beer bottle, Dean gave Jaime an assessing look.

"So, let me get this straight. Since the last time we met, pretty much wherever you've gone, we've been around, to the point where you now have the feeling that we're _supposed_ to work together?"

Jaime squirmed in her seat and waved her hands. "God, it sounds so crazy when you say it like that, but listen," she leaned forwards in the booth, her dark eyes looking intense under the muted light, "do you ever get the feeling like you're supposed to be somewhere? Like, regardless of weird newspaper articles or local rumours, you just get this sense that you _need_ to drive to Louisiana, or Queens, or wherever, and once there you stumble across some active supernatural nasty?"

Sam looked up sharply. "You mean, like, visions?"

She waved a hand again. "No. Visions? Are you screwy? Nothing that dramatic, just a feeling, a sense, an _idea_ that won't leave you alone and bugs you until you give into it." She took a long gulp of beer, the bubbles going up her nose a little and making her cough. She wiped her mouth with a napkin, tossed it onto the tabletop, and then leaned back into the booth-seat.

"Well, I get them anyway and I've learnt to listen to them. It's what led me to Indiana in the first place, and now I keep running into you guys. Something is happening here."

Dean stared at his beer bottle, watching his fingers spin it around and around, a look on his face that Jaime couldn't read. She turned imploring, yet wary, eyes to Sam. He met her gaze.

"You say one of these feelings brought you to Indiana?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Well, I had a vision about it. About you. I saw you on that hill, and then I saw the monster."

Jaime blinked. "You thought I was the monster. I remember you saying that back at the motel." Sam nodded. The group fell silent again, Jaime watching Sam suspiciously.

"So, these visions, you get them a lot? And they're accurate, not just delusions?"

It was Dean who replied. "Look, he's got the 'shining', ok? It's weird, but I'm telling you it's true."

Jaime looked thoughtful, unsure of what to say. This wasn't going exactly as she'd planned but then, what had she expected? It's not everyday you have to tell two strangers that you felt 'the forces that be' (or some such bollocks) were trying to force you together. It sounded like a really bad pick up line.

Looking from one brother to the other, and finally resting her gaze on Sam, she asked, "Any visions just lately?"

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

"No."

"Not since the Indiana thing, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

She slapped a hand on the table, making both brothers jump.

"See? And I bet you used to get them pretty regularly, right? Guys, I know this is weird and I know you" she pointed at Dean "are suspicious about what I'm doing here, but I'm telling you that this is the weirdest series of coincidences I've come across, and looking at my life that's saying something."

She ran her hands through her hair, causing it to spill down her back.

"Look, I guess that if you don't want to look into it, that's cool. Maybe I can do it on my own. I just have this feeling that this is somehow important. To me."

She sighed and slumped back into the seat.

"And now I feel dumb so, for god's sake, say something."

Dean lent back, stretching one arm across the back of the booth-seat, and gazing at Jaime speculatively.

"We can spare a few days investigating this with you, but that's it." He lent forwards across the table. "And if I get even the merest hint that something aint right, we're gone."

Jaime beamed. "Anyone ever tell you you're cute when you're being assertive?" She waved a hand before he could respond. "Sorry. I blame the beer. Why don't we head out somewhere less conducive to drunkenness, and I'll fill you in on more of my suspicions."

Sam looked to Dean, who nodded, and the three rose from the booth. Jaime rummaged in her purse and pulled out a small card. "Here's the name and address of the hotel I'm staying in. My mobile number is on there."

Dean frowned. "Why don't we just follow you there?"

Jaime coughed and fussed with her purse, looking uncomfortable. "Oh, I need a few minutes to tidy the place up before you arrive." At their blank looks, she sighed. "There's someone I need to kick out of my bed, ok?"

A slow grin started to spread across Dean's face, and Jaime resisted the sudden overwhelming urge to hit him.

"So give me five minutes or so and we can meet in the hotel bar."

At Sam's polite nod, she turned to leave, purposefully ignoring the direct stare of Dean who was watching her now with a whole new level of interest.

"Horn dog," she muttered beneath her breath as she strode out.


	5. Chapter 5

Grey Mirror Sky5

"You know, Dean spent about an hour complaining about your truck after he drove it."

Jaime let out a bark of laughter, sending a mouthful of beer up her nose and making her splutter. Taking the napkin Sam proferred, and still giggling, she wiped up her mess. They were one of the few remaining groups in the dimly lit hotel bar, and their table was littered with empties, most of them Jaime's. She was knocking back beers like there'd be no tomorrow, and her plans to discuss her suspicions with the brothers had long been forgotten.

"Dean, you are an asshole! That truck is golden." She waved her beer bottle at him drunkenly, almost sliding off her stool. Sam put out a hand to steady her, looking sideways at Dean who smiled and raised his eyebrows, indicating with a tilt of his head that maybe Sam should be using the situation to his advantage. Rolling his eyes, Sam chose instead to hail over the waiter clearing up an ajoining table and ordering them all a large bottle of water.

"Had it for years. Y'know, it's one of the original Jeeps before they got turned into frou-frou soccer mom cars, more suited to protecting weedy children from other useless, gas-guzzling SUVs than dealing with rough terrain."

"Jaime, it's a dump. How you keep it running is beyond me."

She narrowed her eyes at him and leaned across the table, doing that drunken 'whisper' that is somehow almost as loud as a shout.

"'s love. I love that damn Jeep. You should have seen it that time in Oklahoma where there was this. . this. . shapeshifter thingy. It liked little kids, y'know? And lived up in the woods. I took the Jeep up there to its lair, and found all these little bodies. . ."

Her voice trailed off, and her eyes went hard and hollow. It was like a switch had been thrown, and suddenly she was sitting up straighter and looking far less loose than she had a second ago.

"Well, who wants to hear about that, eh? No one." She downed the remainder of her beer in one movement, and stood up quickly, barely swaying as she snatched up the large bottle of water and waved to the barman.

"Put it on my tab, ok? Room 715."

She glanced at her watch. "Shit, it's late. I didn't mean to keep you guys so long."

Sam smiled, "It's fine. We had fun."

Jaime waved a hand dismissively. "Maybe, but it seems unfair to send you out at this time of night, and I know for a fact that the nearest motel is 30 minutes away. I'll get you guys a room here and then we can discuss everything tomorrow; see if anything comes up."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean jumped in. "Sounds great. We'd better check in."

He offered his arm to Jaime in a parody of chivalry, and she swatted at him. "I'll do that now. Just a second."

As she headed towards the reception desk, Dean leaned against the wall and whistled.

"She comes across as kind of dull at first but did you see the way she downed those beers? This woman knows how to have fun, Sam. You could learn something from her." At Dean's pointed, and suggestive, look, Sam rolled his eyes.

"I keep telling you, Dean, I'm not like you. I'm not interested in picking up everything that moves."

"Oh, I'm hurt. I have very discerning tastes."

Sam snorted. "Whatever, Dean. I'm not about to make a move on Jaime."

Dean grinned, "Then maybe I will. You snooze, you lose, little bro." He pushed off the wall, and sauntered over to Jaime who was just taking their room key from the concierge.

Sam watched silently as Dean rested a hand on the small of her back, tilting his head to smile at her as she turned towards him, her face now close to his own. The image was incredibly intimate, and it reminded Sam of the lonely ache in his chest that he'd been unable to dull since Jess had died. Sighing, he headed across the marble floor towards the couple.

Jaime handed Sam the keycard to his and Dean's room as they stood in the hallway on the seventh floor.

"You guys are next to me, so if you need anything, just knock." She smiled at them. "Feel free to ring for room service or whatever you want. It's all on my tab."

Dean was already pushing open the door and whistling in appreciation. "Sam! Look at this, man, this place is huge!"

Sam and Jaime heard a loud 'thunk' and squeak as Dean threw himself onto one of the two double beds in the spacious suite. Sam looked down at Jaime. "How can you afford this?"

She shrugged, opening her own door and gesturing for Sam to follow her inside.

"I'm a trust fund kid. There's a substantial sum of money that I have constant access to. I suppose I've barely chipped into it due to the necessity of stopping at cheap motels, but occasionally it's nice to treat myself. And others, of course."

She smiled at him, before slipping off her jacket and rolling her shoulders. He heard her spine click and she winced a little.

Noticing his concerned look, she shrugged self-consciously. "I'm still a little sore from the werewolf attack." She laughed. "Man, it's sort of good to be able to say 'werewolf attack' and know that the person I'm talking to isn't about to have me committed."

Sam chuckled. "How's the wound healing?"

Jaime lifted her shirt in lieu of response, exposing the gentle swell of her stomach and four very bright, very raw looking scars. "Pretty much healed already. I'll have a killer scar. Guys dig chicks with scars, though, right?" She tilted her head and smiled self-deprecatingly, but Sam thought he detected a look of sadness in her eyes.

He wanted to say something, to ask more about how she got that trust fund, perhaps, or where she came from, but Dean chose that moment to saunter into the room, his eyes on Jaime's bare midriff.

"Yes, guys still dig chicks with scars."

His frank gaze made Jaime lower her shirt, and if she'd been a few years younger she would have blushed. Feeling silly and, above all, drunk she turned away from the brothers and started unbraiding her hair.

"It's late, and we could all do with some sleep. Why don't we meet in the hotel restaurant tomorrow for breakfast and try to work out what our next move should be?"

Sam nodded. "Well, good night then, Jaime. Sleep well." She smiled at him, chuckling a little as she noticed how Sam had to take hold of Dean's arm to steer him from her room.

When they were both gone, she allowed herself to fall backwards onto the bed, placing a hand over her eyes.

"What am I doing?" She whispered softly, the only response coming from the gentle hum of the hotel air-conditioning.


	6. Chapter 6

Grey Mirror Sky6

_Jaime was walking down a long flight of stairs, the steps curving gracefully away from, her bare feet sinking into about an inch of plush, expensive carpet. It was bright red, her skin looking lily-white against it, making her feet and ankles seem so delicate and brittle. The hem of her skirt brushed against the backs of her calves, and her hand rested lightly on the cool railing. She felt like she were floating, as if she weighed nothing, but there was a sense of pressure in her chest, and she was keenly aware of her heart beating._

_Her lips parted and her breath came as a gasp. Something wet was dripping down her chin and she knew without looking that it was staining the front of her dress. She wanted to wipe at her face, paw away the filth, but her body continued gliding gracefully down the stairs, which seemed never-ending. She managed to turn her head enough to look behind her, and she couldn't see a beginning to them. She felt aimless, insignificant, unimportant._

_There were voices just on the edge of her hearing, and she strained her ears to no avail. Her fingernails started to dig into the railing as panic slowly infused through her body, but still she walked downwards. Something bright flashed in the corner of her eye, and it seemed to startle her from her hypnotised state. She turned to find a huge, antique mirror. It was beautiful. Long, oval, with a gilded frame carved from hard wood and coated in gold. It was clearly a great age, the gold dull with years, though the intricate designs were not worn away. Jaime reached out a hand to touch them but they seemed to be moving, and she couldn't focus her gaze well enough to work out what exactly they depicted._

_She turned her eyes to the mirrors glass front, and what met her gaze made her heart pound and her fists clench. It was her reflection, of course, but distorted, wrong. Her eyes were completely black from edge to edge, blood was oozing from her mouth and dripping down her chin, the white front of her dress stained a deep black-red, whilst individual droplets dotted the hem of her skirt. Her hair was wild, and despite the horror and nausea that was rising inside her, her reflection smiled beatifically, raising one long, pale finger and licking blood from it with relish._

_Jaime tried to look away, and it was then that her reflection changed; the glass of the mirror rippling like the surface of an oily puddle, murky, rainbow colours travelling across its surface. And now, before her, stood her mother. The face one that Jaime was slowly forgetting due to the too rapid passing of time, could only recognise the curve of her face from videos, old images that did nothing to fill the gaping void her absence had left in her life, or negate the horror that she could come to forget someone so important so quickly. But this was her mother, clear as day. She looked like Jaime, but sweeter, softer, calmer. Jaime's heart fluttered in her chest and she reached out a hand, all panic forgotten, wondering what would happen if she touched the surface of the mirror: reached in and pulled out her mother like a lifeguard saving a drowning child._

_Her fingertips had barely grazed the surface when her mother's face changed, turning suddenly, unnaturally, into a grotesque snarl as her hand (now black and twisted and clawed) reached from the mirror and seized Jaime's wrist, tugging her forwards, trying to pull her into the mirror's shimmering surface._

_Jaime screamed and braced herself against the frame with her free hand._

"_Mom! No!"_

_She struggled, but another dark, twisted hand shot from the mirror, seized Jaime's other wrist and pulled her off balance. With a piercing shriek, Jaime felt herself fall into the mirror._

"No!" She awoke with a gasp, drenched in sweat and shaking violently. Scrambling free of the covers, she ran to the bathroom, lifting the toilet lid just in time before she threw up last night's beers and tequila. Resting her flushed cheek on the cool of the toilet seat, Jaime groaned softly. "Damn booze," she muttered, wiping some stray spittle from off her chin and slowly levering herself up to a standing position. Her gaze went to the huge expanse of mirror above the sink and vanity, and she shuddered, rubbing her arms vigorously to chase away the goose bumps.

Her head a little clearer now she'd purged, she stripped off the oversized shirt that acted as her pyjamas, and jumped into the shower, turning the jets to full blast so that the hot water massaged her body, forcing the tension to leave her.

Later, clean and now dressed in loose black slacks, two overlapping vest-tops, and a loose red shirt, Jaime started to braid her long, dark hair. She was adept at it now, and it didn't take her long to complete. Afterwards, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Dark smudges gave her eyes a hollow look, and her cheeks looked slightly sunken, her high cheekbones (and her only redeeming facial feature in Jaime's mind) working against her for once. Removing her glasses, she pinched the bridge of her nose tiredly, before reaching for her makeup bag. Today she needed something to cover the cracks, if only temporarily.

She was just applying some lip balm when she heard someone in the hall and, on a hunch, went to her door to peer out. In the hallway, pacing aimlessly was Sam. Jaime glanced at her watch. It was 6am. Opening her door, she smiled at him.

"Morning, Sam. I didn't expect you to be up so early."

He looked startled by her sudden appearance, and then smiled.

"I don't sleep much."

"Me neither." She gestured inside. "Come in. I'll grab us some juice."

Heading to the not-so-mini bar, Jaime heard Sam close the door after him, and waved a hand at the large sofa that dominated her suite. "Please take a seat. You want some food yet? Maybe eggs or something?"

Sam shook his head, and Jaime knocked the bar closed with her hip before handing Sam a small bottle of OJ and a glass, and falling onto the sofa next to him. Resting her own juice in her lap, she leant her head against the plush back of the sofa and sighed.

"I am so beat. I barely slept at all last night."

Sam rested an arm along the back of the sofa as he turned towards her.

"Bad dreams?"

She looked at him sharply. "Yes, actually. How did you know that?"

He shrugged. "I have them too."

"What do you dream about?"

"People I used to know. Sometimes things that are going to happen."

She nodded, toying with the top of her juice bottle. "Ahh, the visions, right?"

"Right."

Jaime twisted the cap of her bottle self-consciously, but it was stuck, so Sam gently took it from her hands and opened it for her. She smiled at him.

"So, wanna share your nightmare with me? It might help." His voice was soft, and his eyes gentle, but Jaime couldn't help feeling defensive. She took a large gulp of juice, and shrugged.

"It was nothing new. About my mom."

"Your mom? She's. . ."

"Dead, yeah." Jaime's voice was cold, but she wouldn't look at him. Her jaw was clenched, making her face seem harsher, older. Sam realised once again that he knew nothing about this woman, not even her age.

"I never knew her. She died when I was a tiny kid. No one really knows what happened to her, but my uncle used to tell me stories." She smiled suddenly. "He lives in San Jose, California. I visit him sometimes. We go down to Monterey Bay. It's so beautiful there. Have you ever been?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Oh. Well, you should. Maybe if I know you in a few years, I'll take you." She smiled playfully at him, as if she knew that they wouldn't know each other then, as if she knew they'd both always be travelling, always alone.

Trying to be gentle, Sam spoke, "My mom died, too. When I was a kid, just like you. There was this demon, and a fire. The same thing happened with. . with. .." He swallowed. "You think what happened to your mum was supernatural?"

Jaime's eyes hardened. "Oh, yes. What happened to her doesn't fall within the realm of normalcy."

She wanted to leave it at that but she could see by the way Sam leaned forwards slightly and the sympathetic look in his eyes that he wished to discuss it further. Raising a hand, she spoke softly, "Sam, I know you're curious and I know I have to quit stalling and fill you in about my mom if I want your help, but Dean will need to hear this too and I'm. . . well, I'm not up to telling the story twice."

Sam nodded, settling back into the sofa and taking a swig of OJ.

"I can understand that." He smiled, and as his eyes crinkled charmingly, Jaime felt her defensiveness melt away. Dean might be more upfront and as slick as the devil, but Sam had a charm all of his own.

"Why don't you tell me something else about yourself? Like, have you ever been to college?"

Jaime laughed. "A few times, actually." She looked sheepish. "Every now and then I decide I'm done with this crazy job and I enrol at a nearby college, somewhere sunny and upbeat. But I usually have to drop out after a few semesters. It's hard, possibly even impossible, to quit this kind of career."

Sam smiled wryly. "I'm not so sure. I dropped out of Stanford to help Dean find my. .." he trailed off and looked at her. "Well, just to help Dean with everything. I plan on going back, though, when all this is over."

Jaime smiled warmly, and he noticed how attractive she was when she was happy, when that constant wary look in her eyes had abated.

"Good for you, Sam." Her voice was soft, and, for some reason, looking into his open, honest face, she felt a painful little tug in her chest.

Disturbed, she stood up with a stretch, her tops hiking up to display the pale expanse of her stomach, marred by the ugly scars.

"Why don't you go nudge your brother whilst I reserve us a table downstairs? It's too cold for the balcony today, but I'll get us a window seat."

Sam nodded and went to leave, pausing at the door briefly to look at her.

"Jaime? I'm sorry about your mom." And then he left; leaving her staring at the open door with a lump in her throat and a feeling that asking the brothers for help was a seriously bad idea.


	7. Chapter 7

Grey Mirror Sky7

Jaime was already halfway through a large continental breakfast when the boys joined her. Cheese, pastries, fruit, and a wide assortment of jam were arranged on patterned plates on the pristine white tablecloth, and Jaime waved excitedly as they approached.

"They do proper tea here! I ordered a few different samples." With a pastry she pointed to an array of tiny metal teapots that littered the large table. "Darjeeling, English Breakfast, green tea with peach, and some Chai."

Her wide beam started to fade at their nonplussed expressions.

"Uhm, I got some coffee too?" She gestured to a substantially larger pot, which Dean snatched up eagerly. Tired smudges emphasised Dean's pale eyes, and Jaime smiled sympathetically at him as she poured some Darjeeling for Sam, knowing that his politeness would force him to try it.

"You're suffering a bit too this morning, huh?"

Dean grunted in lieu of a response, and Sam chuckled. "He'll be fine after he's had some coffee."

For a while the three of them simply enjoyed breakfast, Sam and Jaime chatting about safe topics like what they thought of the hotel, their favourite movies, and so on. It was intoxicatingly _normal_, and for a while Jaime felt like just your average woman; hanging out with some new friends and totally care free. It was nice, and she was terrified of focusing on the sensation in case she chased it away.

She had just finished teasing Dean mercilessly about his top ten album choices when their waiter came to clear the table and bring them fresh drinks. A hush fell over the table and Jaime suddenly felt self-conscious. Sitting back in her chair she pushed her glasses higher up her nose and smiled nervously.

"So, shall we talk business?"

Dean lent forward, resting his arms on the table and looking at Jaime frankly.

"Shoot."

She took a deep breath, glancing at Sam briefly and receiving an encouraging nod in return.

"Earlier Sam mentioned that your mother was killed when you were both very small, and the same thing happened with mine. Well, not exactly the same thing but you know. . ." She trailed off, flicking a cake crumb off the tablecloth nervously.

"My mum was a model and quite a successful one. With the money she was making and my dad working his way up the family law firm, we were more than comfortable. And happy." She smiled at them sadly before looking down at the tablecloth again, finding another crumb to distract her busy fingers with. When she spoke again her voice was distant, hollow, as if she were reading them an internal script.

"I was eight years old and was supposed to be playing next door, but I remember feeling that something was wrong and that I had to get home. I climbed over the fence into our yard and saw a shadow in my parent's room. There wasn't supposed to be anyone there; mom was meant to be at a private shoot; Tim, my dad, was at work." She took a breath and, sitting so close to her, Sam heard it quaver slightly.

"The back door was unlocked for some reason, and I entered silently. I wanted to call out but was too afraid. I went up the stairs and when I reached the top I swear I saw a shadow fly past, almost like whatever it was moved too quickly to be seen. I started running then, and when I threw open my parents bedroom there was this _thing_ on the bed."

On her lap, her hands balled into fists and her voice grew heated.

"It took me sometime to realise it was a person; it was so shrivelled and shrunken in on itself. It was like one of those ancient peat moss mummies you see on Discovery Channel specials, and it was wearing my mother's clothes and her necklace, the one she never took off." She closed her eyes. "I started screaming. Then something came up behind me and that's it." Her eyes opened and she focused on Dean. "That's all that I remember. When I came to, no one would believe what I saw. The body had gone, leaving behind no trace, and when the police never found a body it was assumed that I'd witnessed my mother's abduction and was too traumatised to remember any details." Jaime shook her head. "But I know what I saw. That thing was my mother, or used to be."

She paused, lifting her mug with a hand that trembled slightly. "Some monster did something to her to make her look like that; sucked her life from her, or _something_. I don't know, but I knew then that there were other things in this world and that they'll keep hurting people unless I do something about it."

Silence descended on the table, Jaime staring down at the tabletop with wide eyes, as if willing herself not to let any emotion show. There was a lump in her throat that she tried to dislodge with a large gulp of tea.

Dean was the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry, Jaime." She nodded, unable to look at him, feeling that if she saw compassion in Dean's face, instead of his usual carefree cockiness, that she'd lose it and embarrass them all by crying.

"I'm assuming you looked into this monster and couldn't find anything relevant?"

Jaime nodded. "I've heard about things that can suck the life force from humans."

Sam interrupted, "Like a shtriga."

"Exactly. But that doesn't leave behind wizened bodies; it just makes the children it targets sick." She reached down into the bag that had been resting beneath her chair, and pulled out a large, heavy-bound book that was stuffed full of newspaper clippings and assorted notes.

"But I've been looking for similar cases or abductions. It's hard considering that this nasty removes the bodies, but I think I've found some kind of pattern."

Carefully moving aside her assortment of teapots, Jaime opened the book and began pulling out various pieces of paper, spreading them across the table. Realising that Dean couldn't read effectively upside down, she stood, moving behind his chair and flipping the paper so that everyone could read them. Leaning gently over his shoulder, she began to explain, pointing at the relevant articles as she spoke.

"Ok, my mom was "abducted" in 1988 in San Jose, California. Five years before that a woman of similar age, 36, went missing in Santa Barbara. She was an advertisement model. Then, in 1990 a 22 year old beauty pageant winner went missing just outside of San Francisco. If you look here," She lent forwards to point at a clipping, her shoulder resting gently against Dean's, "you'll see that in this instance witnesses saw a tall, dark man talking to her shortly before her disappearance. The police searched for him but whoever he was, he was long gone. I've got the sketch artist's rendition of that here." She pulled it out from under a small pile of clippings.

"Then nothing for five years, and then there's a sudden spree of disappearances in New Mexico. Kids this time. All around thirteen years old, all described as exceptionally beautiful, and about half of them professional models. Then again five years after that, but this time he went for a high school teacher and her beauty content winning daughter. You see where I'm going with this, right?"

Dean nodded. "All the victims were attractive women." He turned his head to look at her, putting his face close to hers and making her lean back. "But Jaime, multiple disappearances of beautiful, young women, all centred around one area? That sounds more like serial killer country than monsters."

Jaime shook her head and dropped into the nearest chair.

"I know, I know, but listen to this," She rested her arms on the table and looked at the brothers seriously, "in the majority of these cases an unknown man is described as having made contact with the victim some time before their deaths. Every single sketch of this man is the same." She fanned them out across the table.

Dean blinked, "Doesn't that support the serial killer theory?"

Jaime shook her head and then looked at Sam expectantly, watching as his brow furrowed in thought.

"When was the first sketch drawn?" He asked.

Jaime smiled. "The first sketch I've shown you so far was drawn in 1990." She pointed to the picture of a handsome, dark-haired man, with refined features and a classic air about his face.

"Now, look at this that I found in a newspaper from 1880." She pulled out an old, black and white picture that depicted the exact same man.

"A descendent maybe?" Dean asked but his tone was sceptical.

"I'm thinking he's some kind of immortal. He probably needs the life force of others to maintain his longevity."

Sam looked thoughtful. "And perhaps attractive women are simply his chosen prey?"

Jaime nodded. "Exactly."

Dean sat back in his chair and stared down at the clippings thoughtfully before turning his eyes to Jaime's.

"I can't help wondering why you haven't gone after this thing already, Jaime. I mean, you know his comfort zone, the state he's most likely to strike in next, and you know his type. What's stopped you from killing this thing?"

Both brothers looked at her with open curiosity (and suspicion in Dean's case), and Jaime flipped her braid off her shoulder and met their gaze honestly.

"I couldn't find anything else on this thing from 2000 onwards, but now. . ."

Sam spoke, "Now it's five years on, which fits his general pattern."

Jaime nodded, leaning back in her chair and looking suddenly tired. "Now is the perfect time to catch him, and what with the universe making me bump into you guys so frequently, well, I figured that maybe this means we should hunt this thing. Together." She smiled wryly. "Hell, collectively you both have more experience hunting these things than me anyway, so why not acquiesce to the experts?"

Sam chuckled and although Dean smiled he still looked troubled. Standing up suddenly, he pulled his cell phone from his jeans pocket.

"I need to make a call. Be right back."

As he wandered off towards the lobby, Jaime turned tired eyes to Sam.

"He's not going to help me, is he?"

Sam looked uncomfortable, but his eyes were sincere when he spoke.

"You have to understand something about Dean: when we were kids and our mom died, well, Dean looked after me. He takes his role as big brother and protector pretty seriously." He smiled wryly as though this were an outdated, maybe even pointless view, as if Sam were trying to convey that he could look after himself. And although Jaime could already tell Sam was capable, she understood why Dean was so concerned about looking after him. There was an innocence in Sam that somehow remained untouched despite all he'd been through. The thought of him losing that was enough to fill Jaime with sadness, and she barely knew him.

Looking down at the table as she toyed with a napkin, Jaime smiled. "It must be nice travelling with your brother."

Sam ran his large hands through his hair, making it messier than usual, and chuckled.

"Nice isn't a word I'd use for it usually. More like infuriating, necessary, sometimes fun." His eyes sparkled, and Jaime chuckled.

Suddenly thoughtful, Sam lent forwards, resting his arms on the tabletop. "What about your dad, do you travel with him?"

Jaime noticeably stiffened, and her whole face shut down. It was just like the evening before in the bar when the mention of a particularly nasty hunt had been like throwing a switch, making her whole demeanour change to one of stony blankness.

"He didn't want much to do with me after mom died. I reminded him of her. I don't talk to him anymore. Haven't in a long time."

She stared pointedly out into the lobby, and seeing her jaw clench, Sam rested a hand on hers.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She snapped at him. Taking a breath, she placed a hand over his and chanced a smile. "I'm sorry. It's a touchy subject."

Thankfully, Dean chose that moment to return, and his glance at their interlocked hands made Jaime tactfully remove her own, offering Dean a distracting smile.

"Everything ok?"

He nodded. "It sounds like now is the time to catch this monster, whatever it is. So, I guess we're going to California."

Jaime couldn't help herself, she'd been so resigned to the brothers taking off and leaving her to her strange dreams and ominous feelings, that at his positive response, she leaped up and threw her arms around Dean, pressing her cheek to his and beaming.

Chuckling, he squeezed her in return, his hands splaying across her back. Over her shoulder, he winked suggestively at Sam, who raised an eyebrow and tried to look unmoved by the display even as a twinge of (jealousy?) an emotion he wasn't ready to name made his stomach clench.

Getting a hold of herself, and feeling a little embarrassed now, Jaime pulled away with a smile.

"My heroes." She joked, throwing a playful wink at Sam as she moved to collect the clippings that were still sprawled across the tabletop.

"To California it is then. Let me call my uncle, and we can meet him there." She beamed again and fought down a laugh. "It's been a long time since I went home. Let me run upstairs, make the call, and grab my stuff. It's gonna be a long drive, so we should head off ASAP."

Dean nodded, and Sam smiled at her. Still feeling giddy at the prospect of returning to her home state, Jaime rushed from the room, beaming so widely at the doorman in the lobby that he did a double-take and preened his uniform slightly.

Chuckling, Dean fell into the chair across from Sam.

"She is seriously cute when she's happy. You saw how she went for me?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, she was just pleased you agreed to help her. I wouldn't read too much into it."

Dean opened his mouth to tease Sam some more, knowing that his brother was increasingly growing to like their visiting companion, but was interrupted.

"So, you called dad I suspect?"

Dean sobered, nodding. "Yup. I left a message. If at any point he tells us to turn around on this hunt, we do it, Sammy. No matter what. Ok?"

Sam's eyes darkened, as if the idea of his father having final say over his actions even from miles away angered him, but he nodded. "Understood."

Dean stood, throwing a tip onto the table before shrugging on his jacket. He smirked.

"You notice how perky Jaime's ass was as she bounced outta here?"

Sam punched his brother's arm and laughed.

"You're incorrigible."

Dean only smirked wider, throwing an arm around Sam's shoulders and attempting to noogie him as they walked from the restaurant towards the lobby.


	8. Chapter 8

Grey Mirror Sky8

Once their bags were packed and Jaime had finished using up a chunk of her trust fund on the hotel bill (not failing to notice the particular movie Dean had chosen for himself last night and giggling like a schoolgirl for the next five minutes, still giddy at the thought of going home), Sam helped her throw her luggage in the trunk of her beat up Jeep and then asked if he could ride with her.

Blinking in surprise and instinctively turning to Dean for confirmation, at the older brother's nod she smiled at Sam and opened the door for him, bowing at the waist.

"It would be my honour."

She thought she saw a faint blush spread across his cheeks, but dismissed the thought as a fancy before throwing a wink at Dean.

"You'll be able to keep up, right?"

Hooking his thumbs into his jean pockets he lent against the trunk of the Impala, looking like some rough and tumble model, his eyes gleaming.

"Oh, I can try." His voice was suggestive, and Jaime laughed.

"If you need a break, to get a drink or whatever, call me or Sam, ok?"

He nodded, and both of them climbed into their vehicles.

Turning to Sam as she buckled up and indicating for him to do the same, Jaime pulled out a large cd case from the gap behind her seat and placed it on his lap.

"You can choose the tunes."

Sam beamed. "Thank goodness."

Putting the Jeep in gear, and swinging out onto the road, Jaime quirked an eyebrow.

"What, you're worried I listen to Britney Spears or something?"

Sam laughed, shaking his head, and causing his dark bangs to fall across his eyes boyishly.

"No, no. Dean has _interesting_ taste in music."

"Oh, yeah, I remember." Jaime grinned at him briefly before turning back to the road.

For a while she just focused on the road, checking in her mirror occasionally to make sure Dean was close behind, whilst Sam flipped through her cds. Apparently settling on something, he lent forward and slipped the cd into Jaime's old player.

She opened her mouth to ask what he had chosen, when the opening notes of Moonlight Sonata filled the car, and the words died in her throat. The haunting opening bars sent a chill down her spine, and her hands tightened on the steering wheel.

Reaching across swiftly, she jabbed at the exit button and threw the cd on Sam's lap.

"Not that one. I should have said."

Staring at the road ahead pointedly, knowing Sam was looking at her, Jaime resisted the urge to grit her teeth. What she wanted to do was yell for Sam to mind his own business and to let her have her little quirks, but she _liked_ him, dammit. Yelling at him was like kicking a puppy. Or, she mused, like kicking a _pit bull_ puppy possibly.

Rolling her shoulders to remove tension, she flashed Sam an apologetic look.

"My mum used to play the piano. The first real classical piece she taught me was Moonlight Sonata. I have a, well, a _visceral_ reaction to hearing it. You took me by surprise."

Sam was so quiet that Jaime looked at him properly to see his face. He was sitting low in the passenger seat, eyes on the road, an introverted thoughtfulness showing on his face.

"I understand that. My girlfriend died about 11 months ago, and there are still songs I hear or things I see that remind me of her. It's still painful."

He turned to look at her and seeing the naked pain and misery in his eyes, her throat closed and jaw clenched. She wanted to reach out a hand and touch his cheek. Hell, looking into those dark, sorrowful eyes, she wanted to lean across and kiss him, pressing her lips softly to his in the hopes that she could, if even for a second, take that look from his eyes. But she wouldn't. And she couldn't. She wanted to tell him how much she admired him, to say that even though Dean is most readily identifiable as the 'strong one', the one who faces danger with an attractive smirk and playful tilt of the head, that Sam, little Sammy, had hidden depths. Just the fact that he could look at her like that without feeling the need to run away from human contact made her envy him.

After too long a pause, Jaime spoke, her voice soft.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Really. You," She paused, taking a breath and trying to calm the pounding of her heart, "you never really get over losing someone."

She didn't wait for him to reply, pushing on before she lost her courage.

"When my mom died, my dad went a little crazy. They'd been childhood sweethearts, together for as long as either of them could remember, and losing her was too big a blow for him."

She stared at the road ahead of them as she talked.

"He used to surf, you know, on the weekends, even after work at the firm. He was so handsome, all blonde hair, blue eyes, and a Californian tan. But when mom disappeared, he just turned in on himself for a while. Everyone said it was natural and that after a while he'd go back to being a proper father. 'He adores you so, Jaime' they used to say to me, and I believed them, holding out hope."

She cleared her throat, trying to remove the lump that had situated itself there.

"But when he snapped out of it, all he wanted to do was work. He didn't want to deal with the kid that swore his wife was dead no matter what story of wary hope the police kept spinning. And he most certainly didn't want to deal with my nightmares or how, whenever he looked into my eyes, he saw my mom."

Jaime pushed her glasses up her nose and sighed.

"I grew up with my uncle primarily, but when I really got into the supernatural stuff I found an excuse to go off to college near another hunter. He's a nice guy, and I still talk to him occasionally, but he's old now and not on top of his game. I've been trying to persuade him to retire."

She threw a smile his way, and he gazed back at her openly.

"I find it hard to get along with my dad. He's very critical, very military, and he never approved of me going off to college. He wanted me to stay and help with the family business."

Jaime looked at him from the corner of her eye.

"I'm guessing from Dean's behaviour that the family business you mention isn't something as innoculous as a law firm?"

Sam chuckled humourlessly.

"You'd be right." He sighed. "I know dad cares about me, I just think he hasn't realised yet, even after everything, that I'm not that tiny kid anymore, the one that so often required rescuing."

Jaime nodded. "But, you know, Sam, and at the risk of being unfair, you at least _have_ a family, and it seems pretty clear to me that they care for you. They might have a funny way of showing it, but when you're afraid for someone it's not always a commentary on their capability but rather just how much you care for them."

When Sam didn't respond, Jaime glanced at him. He was gazing out of the side window, his expression closed and thoughtful. Feeling like maybe she'd gone too far, Jaime tapped the cd case on his lap.

"Maybe we should have some music now?"

He nodded and returned to sorting through her collection.

A few hours later, and Jaime called Dean to say she was pulling over at the nearest pit stop. After swinging the Jeep into a parking spot, she glanced over at the sleeping body of Sam before quietly slipping from the vehicle, stretching luxuriously and listening to her spine pop.

She watched the Impala turn into the lot and smiled as Dean exited the car and headed towards her. Somewhere along the way, he'd shrugged off his jacket, and she allowed herself a brief pause to admire the curve of his biceps beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves.

"Where's Sammy?"

Jaime gestured back at her Jeep. "Sleeping. Should we wake him?"

A devilish look filled Dean's pale eyes, and he sauntered around the side of the Jeep, peering in to check Sam's position, and then quickly opening the door so that Sam almost tumbled from the car, his seatbelt the only thing holding him in place. He woke with a start, looking around him in the panicked first few seconds of sudden waking, and then seeing Dean, scowled.

"Ass."

"You know it." Dean grinned, and Jaime covered her smiling mouth with a hand.

"I saw nothing!" She yelled over her shoulder, as she headed into the gastation to grab the key to the washroom.

Sam dragged himself from the car, still slow with sleep. Dean watched him with a smirk.

"So, you kids discuss anything of interest during the drive?"

Sam shrugged. "We talked about her family a bit more."

Dean tilted his head, looking interested. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Sam didn't appear to want to be anymore forthcoming on the subject and Dean felt a flash of irritation. Unable to resist, he crossed his arms and gave Sam a challenging look.

"No matter what you heard at your fancy university, being a good listener alone aint gonna get you laid."

Sam snorted. "Dean, is everything about sex for you?"

The tension diffused, Dean grinned winningly. "Is there any other way to look at things?"

Laughing, Sam reached back into the Jeep to remove his wallet from his coat pocket.

"I'm going to grab some food and a drink. You want anything?"

Dean nodded. "I'll come with. I don't want you getting me some girly drink."

Rolling his eyes, Sam headed towards the gas station, Dean trailing behind.

Once they'd all stocked up on their various food and beverage products of choice, they sat on the front of Jaime's jeep and chatted idly whilst having a quick lunch. Jaime finished first, gathering up any wrappers and throwing them in the trash. Wiping her palms on the back of her jeans, she smiled at the brothers.

"C'mon, boys, lets head out again." She stifled a yawn, and Dean tilted his head as he watched her closely.

"Jaime, no offense, but you look beat. Why don't you give your keys to Sammy and get some sleep?"

Jaime looked torn, trying to decide whether she should push on or not. As she started to yawn again, she nodded.

"If that's ok with you, Sam?"

He nodded and held out a hand for her keys, which she dropped in his palm a little reluctantly.

Dean stood up and placed an arm around her waist, steering her towards the Impala.

"Hey, what are you doing? Aren't I riding with Sam?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder at his younger brother.

"He got the pleasure of your company up until now. You don't want to appear to have favourites, do you?" The look in his eyes was knowing, and Jaime resisted the urge to look away in embarrassment.

Smiling curiously at Sam, she asked, "Is that ok?"

He paused then nodded, smiling at them both.

"Sure, no problem. You get some rest, Jaime." Then he climbed into her Jeep and started adjusting the seat. She winced, and noticing, Dean laughed.

"Oh, c'mon, don't tell me you're one of those chicks who gets all uptight when people mess with your damn seat position?"

She glared at him, but a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm not a 'chick', thank you, Dean. I'm a _woman_." Her voice was faux-haughty, and she stalked off to the car before grinning at him and sliding into the passenger seat.

He whistled softly under his breath. "Yes, you are."

Jaime was standing in a ballroom, watching as couples twirled before her like mechanical figures, their every step and gesture perfectly choreographed. The figures were all in period dress, the men in trim suits with long coat-tails, and the women in corsetry and skirts made of heavy material that swayed an inch above the wooden floor gracefully. Looking down at herself, Jaime could see that she was wearing the same period get-up. Lifting a gloved hand she stared at it in fascination, the material (possibly silk?) shimmering beneath the ballroom lights.

_She felt a gentle hand on her waist, and turning she looked into the face of an extremely handsome man. His expression was one of genteel curiosity, and his high cheekbones, refined bone structure, and dark (almost black) eyes made him appear like some perfect, living portrait. His shirt collar was ruffled, and Jaime watched, oddly hypnotised, as they shimmied with his every breath. _

_Realising that he was speaking to her, she focused on the perfect pink bow of his mouth._

"_May I have this dance?"_

_Jaime wanted to say 'no', to ask where she was, to enquire as to why he looked so damn familiar, but she found her arm lifting of her own accord, her hand fitting perfectly into his as he led her to the dance floor._

_Twirling her lightly, he took the lead with the utmost confidence, and she found her feet keeping up of their own accord. It was like her body knew where to step, when to waltz, how to sway even as her mind churned with sluggish confusion._

_Over his shoulder she took in the room, noticing the wall made entirely of mirrors to their left. She could only catch brief glimpses of reflections in it due to their position and the rapidity of their movement, but something about what she saw troubled her, and she craned her neck for a better look._

_With gentle, but firm, fingers he turned her face to look at him and her breath caught as she stared into those dark eyes. They appeared endless and her body felt weak as she imagined falling into their depths. He was talking again, or laughing, but she couldn't understand the words; she could only gaze at him, entranced, as her feet stepped a dance she'd never learned._

_Suddenly a single word made it into her brain._

"_Meredith." His voice was as smooth as silk, as decadent and captivating as pure, bitter chocolate, but it wasn't enough to prevent her heart pounding at that name._

"_That's my mother's name." Her voice sounded distant, and this time she heard him laugh._

_His grip tightening around her to the point of being painful, he spun her so fast she became dizzy, grasping hold of him desperately to prevent herself from falling. He dipped her low, and suddenly she was facing the mirror, upset down, her hair tumbling down towards the floor._

_Dark eyes stared back at her, but they weren't her own. In the mirror, staring back at her, upside down and with her chest heaving, was Jaime's mother. Jaime choked on her cry, her eyes roving the mirror desperately, watching in horror as the faces of the dancers became clear; all shrivelled, wizened, grotesque._

_She struggled, trying to scream, the blood rushing to her head and making her ears hum, but her captor's grip was far too strong, and she watched in horror as his head lowered to hers. His lips nudged her own, encouraging them to part, and then he was upon her; kissing her with a hunger that literally took her breath away. Eyes rolling to the back of her head, her eyelids fluttered, and she glanced in the mirror to watch her reflection, her mother's face, grow black and shrivelled. . ._

Jaime woke up fighting, her fists lashing out and making contact with Dean's arm as he lent over to wake her.

"Jaime! Goddamn it, calm down!"

Leaning forwards in the car seat, her whole body trembling, she managed to croak, "pull over".

As soon as Dean did so, she was throwing open the car door, fighting with her seatbelt and finally stumbling from the car, gulping the night air desperately, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid it might burst. There was a spray of gravel to her right, and she watched as Sam leapt from the Jeep and rushed towards her. On the edge of a panic attack, her chest heaving and pupils dilated with terror, Jaime stumbled towards him, wrapping her arms around him tightly and allowing the tears to fall.

Mystified, Sam instinctively held her close to him, stroking her hair.

"Jaime, Jaime. . .What is it? What's wrong?"

He looked at Dean over her heaving shoulders.

"What did you do to her?"

Dean's shocked expression turned to one of rage.

"Do to her? Nothing! What the hell, Sammy? She had some kind of nightmare and then freaked out."

Dean paced by his car, muttering to himself angrily whilst shooting worried glances at his brother and Jaime. Choking down her sobs, Jaime rested her forehead on Sam's shoulder as she took deep breaths, trying to steady herself.

Pulling away from him, feeling the reluctance in him as his arms loosened around her, she removed her glasses and wiped at her face. Looking at his shirt, she hiccupped a laugh and wiped at his collar.

"I got make-up-tears on your shirt. Sorry."

Her voice was thick. Slowly, as if she was painfully embarrassed and finding it hard to look at him, she turned to Dean.

"I think I might have hit you in the car. Did I hurt you?"

He shrugged and walked towards her.

"No. You scared the hell out of me, though."

She looked down, feeling Sam squeeze her arm reassuringly.

"I'm sorry. They're not usually this bad."

"The nightmares?" Sam's voice was curious.

Jaime nodded. "They haven't been this bad in years, but they started again after the werewolf hunt."

She sighed and wiped at her face again.

"I'm making such a mess of this. God damn it!"

She stormed off into the dark, heading towards the verge and sitting down angrily on a rise in the earth, staring out into the night.

Sam went to follow her, but Dean placed a hand on his arm.

"Nuh uh, Sammy. Let me handle this one."

Sam looked incredulous. "But I'm the one with the most experience with nightmares, Dean." He lowered his voice. "What if they're prophetic, like mine?"

Dean shook his head. "That's something we'll have to work out later and you _do_ need to have that conversation with her, but look at her Sammy." He gestured to where they could see Jaime hunched in the gloom, tugging angrily at the nearby vegetation, a picture of agitation.

"What's bothering her right now isn't the nightmares, it's the fact that we know about them. If you travel by yourself for a long time, it's hard to let people in. Even worse to let them see you when weak."

Sam stared at his brother in open-mouthed surprised for long enough that Dean scowled. "What?"

Sam shrugged. "I've just never heard you say something so empathetic." At his brother's blank expression he added, "so sympathetic."

"Hey, you don't need a college education to know people, Sammy."

Sam smiled. "Guess not. Ok, you go do your thing. I'll wait here."

Dean left Sam leaning against the Impala as he headed over to the silent figure of Jaime, now staring moodily out into the dark. Sitting down next to her, and leaning back on his hands so he could stretch out his legs, he looked up at the sky. The clouds from earlier had been blown away and the blue-black night sky was dotted with the twinkle of stars.

"Beautiful night."

"Is that a line?" She snapped at him, before sighing.

"I'm sorry. I'm just. . ."

"Tense? Angry? Embarrassed that almost total strangers know one of the most personal things about you?"

Jaime looked at him in shock.

"Uhm, yeah."

Dean chuckled. "Let me tell you a little secret, Jaime: people think I'm just a pretty face," Jaime laughed softly, "but I know people. Sure, I didn't exactly have a normal, social upbringing but you learn quickly if you want to survive this line of work, and reading people is an essential tool."

"For manipulation?" She asked, though a tiny smile erased some of the anger from her eyes.

Dean shrugged. "Sometimes, but it can be used for more than that." He looked away from the beauty of the sky to watch Jaime's face.

"The point is, Jaime, you've been travelling a long time by yourself and, although I don't know for sure, I'm getting the idea that our upbringings weren't too different. Although, I figure you spent more of yours alone."

Jaime looked away, her dark braid falling over one shoulder.

Dean pushed on. "Now, I might not know what it's like not to grow up with a family, I'm lucky that way, but I _do_ know what it's like to feel alone, like every responsibility rests on your head." He paused. "And I know what it's like to lose someone."

Jaime closed her eyes, her face falling.

"God, I _miss _her, Dean. I miss her so damn much that some days it eats me up inside, and yet I can barely remember her. How awful is it that I can't remember the face of my own mother except in nightmares?"

In the light from the Impala's headlights, Dean saw the tears slipping down her cheeks. He wrapped an arm around her, and she turned into him, letting him hold her as the misery welled up inside her, breaking down the walls she'd spent so long erecting.

"I forget too. It's not just you, Jaime." His voice was soft. "You aren't alone."

Later, when the two of them returned to the cars, Jaime smiled at Sam but he didn't fail to notice how her eyes were hard and her face studiously neutral. When they set off, Jaime insisted on driving the Jeep alone.


	9. Chapter 9

Grey Mirror Sky9

Later that night when they pulled over to a cheap motel to get some sleep, Jaime didn't talk long with the brothers, making an excuse and heading quickly to her room, resigning herself to another restless night. After that, it took a few more days of driving before she loosened up. Despite Dean's speech (and despite how much, and how hard, it had struck a chord in her psyche), Jaime had spent the last five years almost exclusively alone and she wasn't about to change that now. It was too hard to let anyone in when she knew she'd never see them again. Better to be alone, even if that made her socially awkward.

Now, driving the Jeep with Dean asleep in the seat beside her, Jaime had her phone's earpiece in and was talking to Sam. It was helping them both stay alert on the long, increasingly boring drive.

Sam's voice was warm in her ear. "So tell me more about his guy you used to hunt with."

Jaime smiled, lifting her eyes to the rear-view mirror to check out Sam's silhouette in the Impala behind her.

"What exactly do you want to know?"

The sound of his chuckle made her smile widen.

"Well, how did you find him? You said you were going to college, right?"

"Oh, that was just the line I spun my uncle. No, I had been checking out websites on the supernatural for some time. Most of them were bogus, but I started noticing this one user correcting a lot of incorrect mythology and articles on demons, vampires, ghosts. I started to get the feeling that he was the real thing, and traced his IP to a location just outside San Francisco." She chuckled as she remembered. " Then I traced his ISP and contacted them, making up some kind of excuse, and managing to trick them into giving me his address. Then I packed my bags, drove down there, and ended up on his doorstep."

"Man, that's brave. What did he say?"

Jaime laughed. "At first he denied any connection with the supernatural, which makes sense. But I wouldn't take no for an answer, so then he got mad, tried to chase me away. Finally he realised I was at least as stubborn as he is and he agreed to take me on and teach me, but he certainly did not make it easy."

Jaime paused briefly; whilst she waved an indicating truck into her lane, slowing down to help him overtake.

Sam spoke next. "So, what was it like?"

Jaime shrugged, even though she knew Sam couldn't see her.

"It was hard. At first he made me do all the dirty work: cleaning, cooking, fixing the car, caring for all the weapons, piece by piece, he even found some wood for me to chop." Sam laughed, and Jaime grinned at the sound.

"It wasn't long before I was going nuts, so he started handing me book after book on evil nasties to memorise. I'd spend all day working, and all evening studying." Her voice was warm with remembrance. "Eventually he took me on my first hunt. It turned out to be a vengeful spirit, and it almost killed me. I took his training methods a little more seriously after that. It's also when he taught me how to fight."

Jaime chanced a glance at the sleeping Dean, making sure she wasn't waking him.

"I'll never forgot him, and I really should visit him soon."

"Is he still in California? We could make a stop, if you want."

Jaime smiled. "That's a sweet thought, Sam, but he's not by the coast anymore. He had a particularly nasty hunt a few months ago and has been lying low since then. The police don't take "But, officer, he was a demon" as a serious defence."

Sam snorted. "Tell me about it. We chased a shape shifter not so long ago that took Dean's form and killed a bunch of people. He died looking like Dean, so as far as the police know, Dean is in the grave."

Jaime didn't know why, but the image of that sent a chill down her spine, and she glanced out the side window as an excuse for something to do. Seeing a car full of high school girls driving in the lane next to her so they could peer in at the sleeping Dean, Jaime grinned wickedly.

"Hold on a second, Sam." She said into her headset, before placing an arm around the back of Dean's seat and leaning over him. Catching one of the girl's eyes, she mouthed, "He's with me" and watched with great satisfaction as they turned away (hopefully blushing) and sped up, overtaking her and heading off at speed down the highway.

Jaime started to chuckle, and was leaning back when a sleepy voice made her jump.

"Don't tease them, Jaime."

She yelped in surprise, and then laughed.

"Sam, honey? Dean's awake, so I'll talk to you later."

Clicking off her phone at his goodbye, she turned smiling eyes to Dean, trying not to notice how attractive he was with his eyes still heavy with sleep and that small grin on his face.

"How're ya feeling, sleeping beauty?"

He sat up and stretched as much as he could in the passenger seat.

"Well-rested, and ready to kick some ass. We almost there yet?"

Jaime grinned. "We should be there soon, yes. If we keep going at this pace, we might make it before sundown, although we could stop at a motel later if you want to."

Dean smirked. "Oh, I want to, Jaime."

This time she actually blushed, pushing her glasses up her nose self-consciously. She turned to him. "Dean, I. . ." He interrupted her. "So, was I dreaming or were you talking to Sammy about your father?"

Jaime turned back to the road, the tension in her shoulders easing at the change of subject.

"Not my father, no, but a friend. The man who trained me to hunt."

Dean nodded. "My mistake."

Jaime looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Sam tells me that your dad is the one who trained you guys, yes?"

Dean smiled, but it was mirthless. "Yeah, that's right. Did Sammy also tell you how he didn't hang around for most of it?"

At the faint bitter note she detected in his voice, Jaime quirked an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah. He said he went away to college if that's what you mean."

She looked at Dean, and saw he was staring moodily out of the window. Her voice was soft when she spoke next. "So he left you all alone with your dad, the focus of his attention. Was it difficult?"

Dean shrugged. "It was necessary." Looking at her now, he smiled in that cocky way of his, and Jaime felt instantly better, as if they were on safer ground now. "Hell, it made me this good at what I do, so. . ."

She laughed. "I notice it hasn't made you very humble, though!"

He grinned, and she settled back in her seat, hands resting lightly on the steering wheel as they moved onto safer, light-hearted topics.

Nightfall was approaching when they made it to San Jose. After crossing the Californian border, Jaime had transformed into a jittery bag of nerves. She hadn't seen her uncle in almost five years, only communicating through occasional, but lengthy, phone calls, letters, and postcards. She was so on edge that Dean forced her to pull over and let him drive, though he complained good-naturedly the whole way about what a heap of junk her precious Jeep was.

Finally, they were pulling up to a long, private driveway, barred from the main road by a huge, gothic styled iron gate. Stopping by the small, discreet speaker on the adjacent wall, Jaime exited the truck and stood there, staring at the buzzer like she expected it to move.

Dean lent across the seat and called to her.

"Jaime, it isn't gonna ring itself. If you want in, you'll have to take the initiative."

She shot him a pained look. "It's just been a long time, Dean. What if he isn't pleased to see me?"

Dean smiled softly. "Jaime, he's _family_. Now ring the damn buzzer."

Squaring her shoulders and feeling like a cowardly fool for hesitating, Jaime jabbed the buzzer with her index finger and fidgeted impatiently as she waited for a response.

A gruff, tinny sounding voice emanated from the speaker.

"Do you know what time it is?"

Jaime smiled despite the knot of nerves in her stomach. "Sure do, Uncle Scott."

There was a pause, and then the mechanism that opened the gates began to whine and they started to swing open.

Jaime jumped in the Jeep, waving for Sam to follow them, and the group headed up the long drive. As the huge house came clearly into view, Jaime watched as the front door opened and golden light spilled out onto the flagstones. The Jeep hadn't even finished moving when she threw open the door and headed towards the silhouette in the doorway.

She opened her mouth to say hello, or apologise, or well _anything_ but before she could speak, she was being enveloped in strong arms and lifted clean off the floor. She squealed as she was spun around, clinging to her Uncle's wide shoulders and growing dizzy. When he finally deigned to set her down, she was pulled close into a fierce bear hug. Her face squished against his shoulder, Jaime started to laugh, the tension easing from her completely. Pulling away she smiled up into her uncle's face, "Well, that wasn't the welcome I was expecting!"

He beamed at her, his sun-weathered skin wrinkling attractively as he smiled.

"I figured I could either yell at you for being gone so long and risk scaring you away, or simply enjoy having you here, and attempt to persuade you to stay by spoiling you rotten." He winked at her, and she laughed again, pulling him into another hug as her heart sang with joy. It just felt so good to be home.

Scott's bright blue eyes went over her shoulder, and Jaime turned, remembering the Winchester brothers.

"Oh, these are my. . ." She was going to say 'friends', but then Dean was looping an easy arm around her waist and smiling charmingly.

"I'm Jaime's boyfriend, Dean, and this is my brother, Sam."

Both Sam and Jaime glared at Dean, not knowing what to say in light of his barefaced cheek.

Scott laughed. "Ahh, a boyfriend, eh? I knew you'd settle down one day, Jaime."

She laughed, the sound brittle. "Oh yes. Ha." As her uncle looked over their heads to wave welcomingly at Sam, Jaime glared at Dean. Met only with his smirk, she pulled away from him in exasperation, and went to help Sam with their bags whilst her uncle welcomed Dean into his home, and went into the kitchen to make them drinks.

Leaning over the trunk next to her, Sam spoke, "I'm sorry about Dean. I hope he hasn't made you uncomfortable?"

Jaime smiled at Sam with genuine gratitude. "Oh, it's ok, I guess. I just can't believe his nerve sometimes!" She wagged a finger. "And if he thinks for one minute that this means my uncle will put us in a shared room tonight, he can think again!"

Sam looked torn between amusement and embarrassment, and Jaime took pity on him, placing a hand on his arm and leaning towards him.

"Honestly? If I could have chosen one of you to be my fake-date, it would be you, Sam." At his shocked look, she beamed, tossing a rucksack onto her back. "You're such a sweetheart, there's no way my uncle wouldn't welcome you into the fold But with Dean? Who knows what he might say."

Realising that Dean was now alone with her uncle, saying god knows what, Jaime looked at Sam and then rushed into the house, his laughter following her as she dumped her bags in the lobby, rushed down the hall, and practically skidded into the kitchen.

As she swayed a little unsteady on her feet, Dean took the opportunity to grab her wrist and pull her onto his lap, beaming as her uncle laughed. Jaime crossed her arms and glared at Dean before smiling embarrassedly up at her uncle. He chuckled and went to the fridge, getting her and Sam, who had just now entered the spacious kitchen and was leaning against the doorframe, a beer.

Handing her the cool beverage, Scott placed a hand on her head tenderly.

"Dean was just telling me about how you met."

Jaime quirked an eyebrow at him quizzically, being met only with that trademark smirk.

"Oh yes. I always said that Jeep of yours would break down one day and leave you stranded. You're lucky Dean and his brother came along to help you change that tire."

"Change a tire?" She stared at Dean incredulously before remembering to smile for her uncle.

"Oh yes. Well, you know us women; totally incapable of changing a tire, fixing an engine, or having the vote." At her biting sarcasm, Sam stifled a laugh and her uncle smiled at her quizzically before remembering his manners and turning to the brothers.

"Would either of you like anything to eat?"

They shook their heads, Sam thanking him politely.

Jaime disentangled herself from Dean's grip, and took her uncle's arm.

"It's so good to see you, Scott. I really appreciate you putting us up for a few nights."

He smiled into her eyes. "Hey, my home is your home, Jaime. You always know that."

She nodded, looking away before she became too emotional. He touched her face gently and looked into her eyes.

"You told your dad you're here?"

Jaime literally squirmed in lieu of response, and Scott sighed. "Look, you know I won't tell him if you don't want to be found, but I strongly encourage you to give him a call." Looking at the clock over the oven, he added, "Maybe in the morning, though. For now, this old man is going to bed."

He pulled her in for one last hug, and spoke softly against her ear. "Welcome home, hon."

Waving at the brothers and wishing them a pleasant night, he headed up the stairs to bed, his bare feet padding softly on the plush carpet. As soon as he was out of hearing range, Jaime put her hands on her hips and glared at Dean.

"My boyfriend, huh?"

He smiled unrepentantly and shrugged. "Hey, it's more realistic than you shacking up with _two_ eligible young men."

Jaime opened her mouth to yell at him but she couldn't stop the laugh that rose in her chest. Settling for swatting Dean on the arm, she smiled at Sam and motioned for him to come sit with them. Once they were all seated round the large kitchen table, Dean whistled.

"This is quite a place you have here."

Jaime shrugged. "Scott is a co-owner of a vineyard. It's a lucrative business here in California."

"Is he your mom's brother, or your dad's?"

She smiled at Sam. "My mom's. He pretty much raised me after my dad decided that work was more important."

Before either brother could say something sympathetic, Jaime stretched and yawned.

"I'm beat. Let me show you both your rooms and then we can discuss a plan of attack in the morning."

Sam nodded, and stood but Dean remained lounging in his seat, lascivious eyes watching her with interest.

"I'm your date, remember? I bunk with you."

Sam snorted derisively and Jaime raised a finger.

"Nice try, Dean, but no. You boys both get your own rooms. No argument."

She glared at him again, but they both knew she was fighting down a smile.

Leading them up the wide staircase, she pointed to pictures of herself and her mom on the wall, pausing occasionally to tell a particular story or point out other now absent family members. Finally, making it to their rooms, she showed them where everything is, warned them about the alarm, and promised she'd meet them bright and early in the morning for breakfast. Waving goodnight, she slipped off down the hall to her own room, whilst the brothers got ready to settle down for the night. Before heading into his room, Sam turned to his brother.

"You really are too much sometimes, Dean."

Dean smirked. "What's the matter, Sammy? Jealous that I get to play the boyfriend?"

Sam scowled. "You're childish, too." And he slammed the door.

Dean shook his head and chuckled before closing his own door and getting ready to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Grey Mirror Sky10

Sam was the first of the brothers to get up the following morning. His hair still wet from the shower, he padded down the stairs barefoot. Peering into the kitchen and seeing no one, he started to explore the lower floor carefully. Coming to a door and hearing the soft sound of music behind it, he pushed it open and stepped through. Warm, moist air hit him, and as he carried down the narrow hallway a large indoor pool came into view. As he stepped out onto the tiled side, he saw Jaime swimming laps as a small stereo in the corner released the gentle notes of classical radio.

Unsure whether to disturb her or not, Sam stood on the side of the pool awkwardly. As Jaime turned the water, she saw Sam and blinked in surprise, before her face lit with a wide smile. Swimming to the edge of the pool, she beamed up at him, pointing to the skylight above them.

"Isn't it beautiful here?"

Glancing up at the sunlit window, Sam nodded.

"It really is, yeah."

Jaime pushed back off the side and floated on her back in the water, the dark green of her bikini a stark contrast to the fierce pink of the scars on her stomach. Seeing them, Sam felt a twinge of guilt. He'd helped put those there and he'd never forget it. Realising that Jaime was talking to him, Sam wrenched his mind away from the painful thoughts and focused on her smiling face.

"So, if you wait in the kitchen I'll be there in a second to make breakfast, ok?"

Sam smiled. "Sure. Thanks, Jaime."

She waved at him as he started to head off, before flipping gracefully in the water and diving beneath the surface. Sam walked to the corridor and then paused, looking back and watching as Jaime pulled herself easily from the pool, the water on her body shining golden in the sunlight. Feeling like a peeping-Tom, Sam shook his head and continued on into the kitchen, where he amused himself with the crossword puzzle in the paper until Jaime padded in, dressed in a terry-cloth robe, and pink from the shower.

Heading for the fridge, she pulled out a large carton of orange juice and placed it on the table next to Sam, before reaching up on tiptoe to grab them some glasses.

"I love waking up and swimming. It's such a great feeling." She beamed at him as he poured their OJ, and then kicked her legs up onto an adjacent stool, leaning back into her chair and sighing happily.

"It's good to be home, huh?" Sam's voice was soft and Jaime smiled into his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess it is."

She was still smiling at him happily when Dean entered the room, his hair all messed from sleep. He scratched at the stubble on his cheek and blinked at them blearily.

"Coffee?"

Jaime laughed, touching his arm as she passed on the way to the coffeepot and wishing him a good morning. He managed a grunt and smile in response before dropping into the seat next to Sam.

Jaime busied herself making coffee and breakfast whilst the brothers talked, and as the sunlight lit the large, pristine white kitchen her heart soared. This felt so _comfortable_, so peaceful. As much as she knew this was a fleeting experience, as much as she understood that letting herself get too attached to the Winchester brothers was a seriously bad and potentially heartbreaking idea, Jaime couldn't help but enjoy their company. And here, surrounded by the sweet familiarity of the house she'd grown up in, it felt like maybe letting herself revel in that enjoyment for just a little while might not be so very risky.

Finally laying out the toast, eggs, and bacon she'd prepared for them, Jaime sat between the two brothers and smiled. As they ate, Sam continued to flip through the paper, pausing occasionally and bending his head low as he read with interest. Jaime watched him silently as she sipped her coffee, occasionally glancing at Dean to make sure he was enjoying his food, but in his half-awake state he merely ate silently, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.

Jaime smiled, finishing her coffee, and scooting her chair closer to Sam's so she could read over his shoulder.

"Anything interesting?"

He looked up into her face, his eyes troubled. "Not really, no."

Jaime frowned. "Why the long face, then?"

He sighed. "I'm just a little worried about catching this monster in time. All we know is that now is roughly the right time for him to attack, but what if we've missed him already?"

Jaime felt her heart sink as Sam vocalised the worry that had been at the back of her mind since this whole journey with the brothers began. Her shoulders hunched slightly and she removed her glasses, tossing them onto the counter and rubbing at her eyes.

"Hopefully if he's already struck, we'd be seeing some reference to it in the local paper. You're sure there's nothing there?"

Sam nodded. "Positive."

Jaime smiled, but it was forced. "Well, then, hopefully we're not too late."

At Sam's less than encouraged expression, Jaime frowned.

"What's bugging you, hon?"

Sam sighed, folding up the paper and resting his arms on the table.

"I just, well. . .It was a vision that led me to you during the werewolf hunt, but my vision was _wrong_, and you ended up getting hurt. I'm starting to doubt my instincts."

"Your instincts are fine, Sammy. The visions are something else. And you have plenty of time to learn how to work with them."

Dean's voice was firm, and Jaime nodded in agreement.

"Definitely. Please don't worry, Sam. Look," she spread her hands on the table and glanced at both brothers, "why don't we start brainstorming ways to find this guy slash thing slash tick whatever applies."

Dean chuckled and stood up. "Sounds like a plan, but first I need to shower. Thanks for the food, Jaime."

She nodded and watched him leave the room before turning back to Sam and smiling.

"You have any ideas?"

Sam looked thoughtful. "He always goes for models or beauty queens, right? Usually low-level, just breaking into the business type women, so why don't we start searching the local papers for beauty contests, on both the high school and adult level?"

Jaime beamed and stood up. "Great idea! There's a newsstand not too far around the corner. Why don't we head out whilst Dean showers and grab some papers?" She paused. "Or would you like to swim, or something? Scott actually has a gym room around here somewhere too."

Sam shook his head. "No, no. I'll go with you."

Smiling, the pair headed out to the Impala, Sam opening the door for Jaime before sliding into the driving seat.

When they returned to the house later, Jaime was laughing at a joke Sam had just made as he held the door open for her. Her face turned up to his, their bodies close as she slipped through the doorway, it was an incredibly intimate picture and when Jaime noticed Dean watching silently from his seat on the sofa, Jaime stepped away from Sam and coughed, clearing her throat before smiling at Dean.

"Hey. We picked up a stack of local papers, and the plan is to search for any beauty or modelling contests."

Dean nodded, and reached for the pile of papers Sam was carrying. Splitting the stack between the three of them, all of them settled down in the living room to work; the brothers on the long, wide sofa and Jaime sprawled on her stomach on the rug.

She looked up briefly between turning the page. "Hey, where's Scott?"

Dean snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah. He said to tell you that he'll be working all day but would love to take us all out to dinner tonight, around 7pm."

Jaime beamed. "Aww, that's so sweet. He always was super thoughtful." Smiling she returned to flipping through the paper.

Silence descended on the group as they worked, though it was broken when Dean flicked the third paper he was sorting through and lent forward in his seat.

"Got it! A Miss California beauty contest is seeking applicants. Auditions to start tomorrow. Open to ages seventeen and up. Looks like they've been accepting applicants for about two weeks, and tomorrow they sort out who gets to go through to the first round."

Sam took the paper from his brother and read it quickly before raising his eyes to Jaime's.

"This is perfect, Jaime. It's exactly the kind of place where this thing struck before. I mean, I know he got a few professionals like your mom, but who's to say he didn't contact her through something like this?"

Jaime nodded. "Can I see?"

Handing the paper to her, Sam rested his elbows on his knees and watched her face as she read. Finally satisfied, Jaime folded up the paper and looked thoughtful.

"Ok, so we have a likely venue for his attack, but how on earth are we going to get involved in this? They've already chosen the judges, and who the hell do we know who could enter a beauty contest?"

As the brothers both stared at her pointedly, realisation dawned on Jaime's face and she scrambled to her feet, waving her hands.

"Oh, no no no. I am NOT entering a Miss California pageant!"

Dean sat back in his seat, smirking. "Why not?"

Jaime gaped uselessly, unsure of what to say. She settled for gesturing down at her black slouch-pants, racer-back vest top, and bare feet.

"Look at me! Do I look like model material to you?"

Sam blinked. "Well, yeah, actually."

Jaime's mouth dropped open, and she turned to Dean.

"C'mon, Dean, please tell your brother that he's dreaming."

Dean lent forward, looking suddenly serious, though his eyes still twinkled with amusement.

"Jaime, you're very attractive. Sure, you dress in practical hunter gear most of the time, but you can't hide how hot you are."

Jaime fought the blush that was threatening to rise on her cheeks, crossing her arms and scowling at the brothers.

"This is goddamn ridiculous! I can't do this! They'll laugh me out of the room."

Dean chuckled. "Didn't you say you'd do anything to catch this thing?"

Jaime pouted unhappily. "Well, yeah, but I wasn't thinking about something like this!" She fell down on the sofa between them with an unhappy sigh.

"Honestly we'd have more luck putting Dean in a wig and a dress and sending him in."

Sam choked before laughing uproariously, whilst Dean scowled at the both of them.

"Oh, ha ha. Very funny, Jaime."

She grinned before falling back into her seat and sighing.

"If this is our only chance then fine. But I'll need to go shopping. I don't think I even own a dress anymore."

She snatched up the paper and scanned the advertisement again before placing her hands over her eyes and groaning.

"Oh _man_, there's a bikini audition."

Dean raised an eyebrow and leaned forwards with interest. "Oh really?"

Jaime sighed again. "Shopping it is, then."

She stood up and stretched before wagging a finger at the brothers. "For the record? I am _not_ happy about this. I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to wear!"

Sam laughed. "Look, Jaime, why don't I help you find something whilst Dean scouts out the location and investigates the other applicants?" he turned to Dean. "You can get a copy of the current applicants, right?"

Dean nodded, standing and shrugging on his worn denim jacket. "Sure, no problem. You kids go enjoy your shopping trip."

Throwing them a wink over his shoulder, he grabbed the keys to the Impala and headed out.

Jaime watched him go and then sighed. "This sucks. He gets to go do the fun stuff whilst we're stuck shopping."

Sam looked at her incredulously and then laughed. "You're the strangest woman I've ever met, Jaime."

She smiled ruefully. "Ha! I'll take that as a compliment. Now, c'mon, lets get this damn chore over with."

Later that afternoon, the brothers were back in the living room, going through the applicant list and using Sam's laptop to find out as much about them as possible. The monster's previous victims had all been exceptionally beautiful, but they'd also tended to be a certain type: tall, long-haired, dark, and with delicate features. Using this profile, they were trying to work out which applicants were more high risk. There was a long list of auditionees to work through, and the brothers had been working for an hour whilst Jaime sorted through her new clothes upstairs.

Finally Dean threw his papers down and rubbed his eyes, rolling his shoulders to release the tension that had built there.

"Oh man, this is taking forever. Who knew so many women wanted to be Miss California?"

Sam snorted, not taking his eyes away from his laptop screen.

"I guess it's a much coveted position for women seventeen and up."

Dean stretched. "What's Jaime doing, anyway?"

"I'm up here." Her voice sounded from the top of the stairs, and the boys turned to peer out the wide French doors to look. Descending the stairs, Jaime came to stand in the doorway looking deeply embarrassed.

"What do you think?" She gestured down at herself, her tall body encased in a floor-length, emerald green gown that shimmered slightly under the subdued lighting as she moved. The bodice consisted of a flat panelled corset that emphasised her larger than average bust and skimmed forgivingly over the swell of her stomach, whilst the full skirt added to the overall flattering effect. She'd undone her plait, and her long dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders. Pushing her glasses up her nose self-consciously, she rubbed her bare arms.

"I thought maybe the colour makes a feature of my pale skin, instead of just making me look under done and sickly."

When the brothers didn't respond, she winced. "I look stupid, right?"

Dean was the first to speak, turning further on the sofa.

"Uhm, no. No, Jaime, you look incredible."

She looked wary. "Really?"

He nodded, and Sam agreed, his voice soft. "Jaime, you look amazing."

She looked down, blushing and fidgeting with her skirt.

"Oh. Thanks." She cleared her throat. "Now that I know it works, I'm gonna go change." She went to leave but Dean stood and reached out a hand to stop her.

"Stay. You're a great distraction from all this monotonous work."

Jaime smiled, but disentangled herself from his grip.

"Dean, you're incorrigible, but sweet. I really need to change. I feel. . .unlike my self in this get up."

Turning, she gathered her skirt in her hands and headed rapidly up the stairs.

Dean turned to his brother and whistled.

"Hoo-boy. How is it possible for a woman to be that hot and not know it?"

Sam sat back into the sofa seat and adjusted the laptop on his lap.

"That's funny. I remember you originally describing her as 'dull'".

Dean shrugged, nonplussed. "Hey, that's purely because of her habit of dressing down. Plus, that was before I got to know her better." He smiled lasciviously, and Sam scowled, hunching lower over his laptop.

"Whatever, Dean, just don't mess with her, ok?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Sam shrugged, refusing to look at his elder sibling.

"You know what I mean, Dean. It's clear she doesn't want to get too close to either of us and wants to focus on the job, so lets do that. She's been through a lot and doesn't need any extra hassle."

Dean watched his brother typing angrily on the laptop, his expression incredulous.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I genuinely enjoy her company?"

Sam shot his brother a scathing look. "When she's scantily clad, you mean? Or drunk?"

Dean shook his head. "Sometimes you can be such an asshole, Sammy."

Sam's eyes darkened with anger and he opened his mouth to respond when Jaime entered the room, hands busily braiding her hair. She paused when she saw the brothers, looking uncertain.

"Is everything ok?"

Sam turned back to his laptop, leaving Dean to smooth the situation over with a smile.

"Sure."

Still looking wary, Jaime came to stand next to Dean. "Well, if you boys are almost finished, we should probably get ready to meet Scott at the restaurant. He's already booked us a table."

Dean nodded, and Sam started to pack away his laptop whilst Jaime watched, noticing the angry line of his shoulders and wondering what had occurred in her absence.

"Then we'd probably better get an early night. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

Dean smirked. "I didn't realise beauty pageants were so trying."

Jaime rolled her eyes. "Oh Dean, you have _no_ idea."


	11. Chapter 11

Grey Mirror Sky11

Jaime spent the next morning rushing around town in a bid to fit in the weeks of beauty preparations most models needed in a scant few hours. Whilst Dean continued to work on the applicant list back at Scott's house, Sam escorted Jaime to what she scornfully called "stupid, froufrou girly activities" like waxing, manicures, pedicures, and a haircut. Jaime had been particularly put out by the final activity, and when the hairstylist mistakenly suggested that Jaime highlight her dark locks with "biscuit blonde" and "russet red", Jaime had muttered something about shoving that oversized hairdryer straight up her. . .which was when Sam butted in with a polite apology and declined the offer whilst Jaime sulked in the chair.

They'd also rushed around a few more shops whilst Jaime collected more essential outfits. Sam's good-natured conversation was really the only thing preventing Jaime from blowing a gasket, and when they came to shop for the swimsuit portion of the contest, Jaime turned brooding. It was a painful reminder of her recent disfigurement, but she refused to be pulled down by it, and had Sam drive her to a small makeup boutique, exiting the store with a small black box that she refused to disclose the contents of.

Upon returning to the house, Jaime threw herself down next to Dean on the sofa, stretching out and placing a hand over her eyes.

"I will never criticise models ever again after this. I'd always suspected being beautiful took more work than I was willing to commit to, and now I know for sure."

She peeked out at Dean from beneath her fingers.

"You sure I can't persuade you to don a ball dress and some heels?"

He laughed. "Not even your uncle has enough money to persuade me to do that."

Jaime chuckled, and then sighed, looking up at Sam sheepishly.

"I'm sorry I've been such a brat all morning, Sam. I just hate all this bullshit."

She got to her feet and gestured for him to follow her to the kitchen.

"Let me make it up to you by fixing us some lunch. Dean, you coming?"

He nodded, and followed.

After lunch, Jaime packed a large duffel bag with all her new clothes and accessories and rushed to don a suitable outfit for the initial audition. She finally settled on smart black chinos, low-heeled boots, and silk military style jacket that displayed a tasteful amount of cleavage, and buttoned low over her waist, covering her scars. Twisting her long hair into a chignon and exchanging her usual silver-framed glasses for stylish black ones, she finally felt ready to face the monstrosity known as a beauty contest.

Dean drove whilst Sam chatted with Jaime, trying to keep her calm as she fidgeted nervously in the back. Finally reaching the large community hall where the auditions were to be held, Jaime wandered up to the front to find out how everything would work. Returning to the car with two guests passes for the brothers; she explained what the administrator had told her.

"This audition isn't open to the public, just two guests per applicant. Wear these badges at all time and you're set."

She turned to Dean. "Dean, I think it'd be best if you checked out the place as it's been listed as the final venue and we need to know out environment in case the monster chooses to strike here. Sam, you're with me."

Dean protested, "Hey, don't I get to watch the auditions?"

Jaime gave him a long, assessing look. "And do you think you could concentrate long enough to actually case the joint?"

Dean smiled slowly, looking predatory.

"Oh, I could concentrate alright. . ."

Jaime interrupted. "Yes, but not on where we need your expertise."

Dean shrugged and grinned, knowing this was an argument he couldn't win.

"Fine. But you owe me, Jaime."

She rolled her eyes and looked at them both.

"This will be a long day, boys. The admin mentioned they have 250 women to get through today, and any overspill will be handled tomorrow."

Sam nodded. "How many will go through to the main competition?"

Jaime sighed. "Just 25, so this is gonna be tough. We should start thinking up a back up plan if I don't get chosen."

Dean shrugged. "You will be. Just think, this is California: all the girls will be bottle-blonde, stick thin, and tan. You'll stand out like a sore thumb."

Jaime laughed. "I don't know whether that was sweet or insulting, but I do hope you're right."

Taking a deep breath, she gestured she was ready to go, and they wandered into the hall, Dean slipping off quickly to look around as arranged.

The afternoon flew by in an anxious rush of activities. With so many applicants to get through, Jaime found herself being rushed from one change of clothes to the next, having no real time at all to take a break or answer questions effectively. It was the same for everyone, though, and many women weren't even asked to try out for all the different portions of the audition, being dismissed within the first few rounds.

Finally, the day was almost at an end, and the women remaining were being instructed to don their outfits for the most important part of the audition: the swimsuit contest. Jaime rolled her eyes at the judges' enthusiastic recommendation of this particular portion of the show before tromping back to the makeshift changing area with the other women.

There were about 50 of them left now and therefore very little space for Jaime to work on her unique swimsuit concept. Growing tired of being 'accidentally' elbowed out of the way of the mirrors, Jaime gathered up her stuff and headed to the lounge area set aside for the judges. They weren't using them now so Jaime saw no reason why she shouldn't take advantage of the free space.

By the time she was ready, the swimsuit show was in full swing, and teenagers and grown women were strutting their stuff on the makeshift catwalk. Now that there was a little more time to focus on each woman, the applicants were being stopped at the end of the runway to be asked a random question for the ironically named 'trivia' part of the contest. Jaime was finding it hard not to make gagging noises as the usual clichéd responses about 'ending world hunger' were trotted out by each vapid applicant.

Meanwhile, Dean had finished jotting down a plan of the hall and surrounding buildings and was just sliding into a seat next to Sam when one of the judges called for Jaime to come out. Sam was just taking a long swig of bottled water when Jaime stepped out under the lights, causing Sam to choke at her outfit.

Clearly she'd been torn about how to hide the huge, livid scars that curved across her stomach round to her right side, and had finally decided that this would be impossible in a bikini contest. So, in typical Jaime style, she'd decided to make them a feature. Instead of the skimpy string bikinis chosen by the majority of the other applicants, she'd gone for an army-camouflage bikini consisting of a racer-back top that emphasised her breasts, and hot pant shorts that were forgiving of her upper thighs. Draped around her hips were real ammo belts, filled with short silver and wooden stakes (Dean and Sam recognised them both as stakes purposefully modified for throwing). Matching the print of her bikini, Jaime had used army paint to emphasise the grotesque scar that instantly drew the eye, making it a feature instead of a deformity. To complete the getup she'd chosen heeled cowboy boots instead of stilettos, and a Stetson that she wore at a jaunty angle, her long hair tucked beneath it.

The crowd hushed in shock at her outrageous outfit, and Dean covered his mouth with his hand as he tried to laugh silently, his shoulders shaking with mirth. With a saucy strut, Jaime made her way down the length of the catwalk, head high and shoulders back. When she reached the end, the judge (who was looking a little stunned at her appearance), cleared his throat and looked down at the cards in his hands.

"So, Jaime, what would you like to be professionally?"

Jaime smiled at him so winningly that he preened a little, before leaning towards the tiny microphone, her voice husky with amusement.

"Isn't it obvious?"

She grabbed one of the stakes from her belt and tossed it easily in the air, catching it smoothly and adopting a pose of readiness.

"I'm Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

There was a moment of silence, and then the crowd burst into laughter. Dean was now leaning forward in his seat, tears of laughter threatening to spill down his cheeks.

"Oh god, she has _balls_."

Sam just smiled vacantly, still absolutely stunned by Jaime's crazy outfit.

With an ironic bow and wave of her Stetson, Jaime strutted from the stage.

After she'd cleaned off all her makeup and was pulling on her pants, one of the female judges came backstage, asking for all of the remaining 50 women to return tomorrow with their ball gowns and anything required for the talent portion of the contest. Jaime made a note to enquire about a piano before grabbing her stuff, and exiting the changing room, finding Sam waiting for her. Dean was nowhere to be seen and Jaime raised her eyebrows.

"Please do not tell me Dean is off harassing the applicants."

Sam smiled sheepishly. "I suspect he is."

Jaime laughed, placing a hand on his arm.

"So, tell me, was I awful?"

Sam shook his head; dark locks falling into his eyes becomingly.

"Jaime, you were amazing, really. And you really stood out."

Jaime laughed. "Yeah, as a crazy person! I still don't know what I was thinking with that Buffy line."

Sam smiled, about to respond when Dean sauntered up to them, placing an arm around Jaime's waist and giving her an easy squeeze.

"That was perfect, Jaime. Really. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard."

She swatted at him. "Oh, that's charming!"

He lifted his hands in defence and laughed. "In a good way, Jaime! That took balls."

His eyes smiled into her own, and Jaime felt the nerves fluttering in her stomach grow still. If Dean thought her crazy idea had worked then Jaime trusted that it had. Smiling, she looped her arms through each of theirs' and led the brothers out to the car.

"Well, we just have a few more hours of this tomorrow and then we'll _really_ know if my crazy idea worked."

The next day was much of the same; though Jaime didn't get a chance to practice her talent portion of the show as the piano booked by the judges wouldn't arrive until the day before the big event. Luckily, everyone seemed satisfied that Jaime had a suitable piece of music chosen and she was told repeatedly not to worry. At the end of the day, the 25 finalists were listed, Jaime among them, and after receiving a thumbs-up from Dean and a huge smile from Sam, she was dragged off by the organisers to be lectured about the big day.

When it was all over, she sprawled in the backseat of the Impala, persuading the boys to let her buy them all a takeout on the way home, which they ended up eating in the garden beneath the cool night sky.

Pushing her plate away and leaning back in her seat, Jaime looked up at the star-sprinkled sky and sighed.

"Well, we're in. Now we have to wait."

Sam lent forwards, frowning.

"When is the contest booked for?"

Jaime waved a hand. "In five days. Until then we should work on our plan. Although I have to keep going in for 'training'." Her voice was scornful. "As if I need to be taught how to walk in heels, for god's sake."

Sam sat back, looking troubled. Noticing, Dean punched him gently on the arm.

"What's up, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head. "It just feels wrong sitting around doing nothing."

Jaime shrugged and stretched.

"But what else are we supposed to do? Apparently, beauty contests take time and it's unlikely that this monster dude is liable to strike before he's had a good look at the participants."

Dean looked thoughtful. "Maybe we should make an effort to get to know them better?"

Jaime shot him an amused look.

"Oh, yes, 'we' really should."

Grabbing the Stetson that she'd brought outside with her, she placed it over her eyes and leaned back in her seat.

"If you want to go chat up the would-be-models, horndog, you please yourself. I'm not spending any more time with them than necessary."

She heard Sam chuckle, but blinked in surprise as Dean said roughly,

"I'm off to get another beer," before he wandered into the house, his footsteps sounding heavy, maybe even a little angry.

Jaime removed the hat from her face and peered at Sam.

"Did I offend him?"

Sam shrugged, looking uncomfortable, his tone a little derisory.

"I think he's just upset that you're not falling for his 'charms'."

"Oh." Jaime sat up and fiddled with the brim of her hat, her expression closed.

Not really wanting to hear the answer, Sam ran a hand through his hair awkwardly and asked, "You're not are you? I mean, you're not interested in Dean?"

Jaime shook her head and sighed.

"Even if I was, Sam, it doesn't matter. You both have your own monster to kill and as soon as we catch the son of a bitch that killed my mother, you'll be racing off in that beautiful Impala to seek your own vengeance."

She waved a hand and looked at the sky, a bitter smile on her face.

"And you'll probably meet many more women who make for a nice distraction on the way, and I've been on the road, I know that you can't stick around."

She stood up and stretched, avoiding Sam's gaze and the sad look on his face.

"So, no, Sam; I'm not interested, because I can't be."

And with that, she went into the house, passing Dean in the hall and saying good night before going quickly up the stairs.

Dean handed a beer to Sam as he settled himself back into one of the plush garden chairs.

"Jaime looked pretty serious. Everything ok?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful and ignoring the question to ask one of this own.

"Dean, do you ever think about what we'll do after all this? After the demon that killed mom is dead?"

Dean took a long swig of beer and then looked at his younger brother.

"There is no 'after', Sammy."

At Sam's confused expression, he lent forwards resting his elbows on his knees.

"Even when this demon is dead, there will be many more to take its place. Knowing what we do, how can we ever stop hunting? How many people will die if we choose to walk away from all this?"

Sam looked suddenly angry. "But I want a life again, Dean. I'm sick of all the travelling, and sick of not being able to get hold of dad, of being this disjointed family."

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, staring out at the night angrily.

"I thought when this started that I'd return to college, but now I don't see a way of going back, Dean. I don't see _anything_ after we kill this thing."

Dean looked stunned as the full weight of his brother's words hit him, before anger flooded his eyes, making his expression intense and focused.

"Sammy, you are _not_ going to die for this thing. I don't care how much you want revenge, I am not losing you _or_ dad in the pursuit of this monster."

Sam stood, looking down at his brother with dark eyes.

"Maybe we don't get a choice in this, Dean."

And then he left, leaving Dean alone in the dark; staring down into his beer as the words his brother had just uttered echoed in his head.

Jaime watched him from the window of her room; the lonely shape of his silhouette making her heart ache. When he finally finished his beer and turned to enter the house, she moved silently away from the window and climbed into bed, looking thoughtful.


	12. Chapter 12

Grey Mirror Sky12

The next few days passed in a busy blur for Jaime who was required to attend many training and advertising events for the show. In the evenings she practiced her talent portion of the event, or sat up with the brothers to go over their plan once more and discuss possible suspects. So far all the judges had been investigated, which left the huge, ever-changing audience that attended each public session. At this point, they were all agreed that the easiest plan of attack was to keep an eye on the applicants. Thankfully, the 25 women would be narrowed down to three finalists, and it seemed logical that if this monster went for the most beautiful, those would be the women to watch. To Jaime's eternal relief, it wasn't necessary for her to be one of those final three, as simply having access to the women beforehand and gaining their trust would enable her to watch them closely during and after the event.

With so much free time and an unusual tension building between the three of them as the big day approached, Jaime encouraged the brothers to spend time with her uncle who took great pleasure in showing Jaime's 'boyfriend', and his sibling, all the interesting areas of town. A few times, Dean and Sam even went out on a few dates, whilst Jaime spent those evenings purposefully not thinking about where they were and working on her song for the contest. Sometimes she found herself staring at her mother's portrait whilst an ache built in her chest until she felt like she would explode. It seemed like every night now tears would come to her eyes and, although the nightmares had stopped as suddenly as they'd begun, she felt like she hadn't slept properly in weeks.

The night before the contest, Jaime found herself staring wide-eyed up at her bedroom ceiling at three in the morning and, sighing, dragged herself from bed. Padding silently down the stairs, she jumped at the sight of someone on the living room sofa. Lowering into a defensive crouch, she stalked downwards until she could peer round the French doors for a better view. Seeing that the intruder was actually just Dean, she blinked in surprise before rising and padding into the room.

"Hey, what are you doing up?"

Dean turned and smiled at her.

"I actually just got in a little while ago."

Jaime paused in the doorway.

"Ahh, another date. It must have been fun to keep you out so late."

Dean shrugged, looking nonplussed. "It was ok."

Wrapping her arms around herself, Jaime padded into the room, the thin material of her night-shirt feeling suddenly inadequate in the chill of the night. She lowered herself on to the opposite end of the sofa from where Dean sat, curling her bare legs beneath her for warmth.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Jaime shook her head, a lock of dark hair becoming dislodged from behind her ear.

Dean watched her, one arm stretched out on the sofa back.

"More nightmares?"

Jaime sighed. "No, actually. I guess I'm just nervous."

She looked away from him, fidgeting, her fingers plucking at the plush material of the sofa cushion anxiously. Dean simply watched her silently, seeing from the look on her face that she was preparing to speak; fighting with her own thoughts as she considered what to say.

"I guess. . . Well, I guess I'm scared, Dean." She looked at him now, her dark eyes looking black in the muted lighting of the room.

"I've never been here before. I'm _so close_ to finding this thing, and if he strikes soon, like we suspect, and we kill him. . . What then? What will I do with my life?"

She stood up suddenly and started pacing, her arms wrapped tightly around herself and her face a picture of agitation.

"Up until now my whole purpose has been to kill this thing. I've let it come between me and school, friends, lovers, even family. I've been consumed by hunting it down and making it suffer." She looked at him, agonised. "Who will I be when it's dead?"

Dean stood and moved towards her, speaking softly.

"You'll still be you, Jaime. You'll still be the same woman who has the courage to stand up to monsters and laugh in the face of beauty contest judges."

Jaime tried to smile at his joke, but she couldn't seem to force her face to obey her. Dean touched her arm.

"Things will just be different, but there's always more monsters to kill, Jaime. And there's always time to take a break, maybe reconnect with your family."

She turned her eyes to his. "Is that realistic though, Dean? Could _you_ take a break from this life?"

Dean looked serious, shaking his head and meeting her gaze directly, honestly.

"No. I couldn't. Considering the depths I'm willing to lower myself to get the son of a bitch that killed my mom; what I'm willing to do to keep my family safe. . .No, I can't turn back. There's not even a back to return to."

Jaime gazed at him, eyes wide with a jumble of emotions she couldn't even begin to assess or understand. The determination and confusion she saw in Dean's eyes reflected her own, and she shivered.

"I don't know that I want to do this anymore, Dean, but I do know I don't really have a choice."

His arms were suddenly around her and she leaned into him, resting her cheek against his neck and inhaling the warm, feral scent of him. He smelt like soap and sweat and leather, and faintly, overlaying it all, she picked up the trace of women's perfume, indicating that his date had been more eventful then he was letting on. Breathing him in, scenting another woman across his skin, Jaime felt her stomach clench with desire. Her lips were so close to the warm skin of his neck and she merely turned her head slightly, letting them brush across his pulse and feeling his body press against her in response.

Slowly, her eyes closed, she kissed her away along his jaw before hovering her mouth over his; their breath mingling, hers steady and controlled, his a little fast. Not wanting to resist the desire that was making her body taut and sensitive to his closeness, Jaime pressed her lips to his eagerly, deepening the kiss as she rose into his embrace; shivering as his arms tightened around her and pulled her in close.

Her kiss hungry and searching, Jaime's hands pulled at Dean's shirt, her body angling for him to fall back onto the sofa. As her fingers slid across his bare stomach, Dean made a soft noise in the back of his throat and pulled away from her. Confused, Jaime peered into eyes that were heavy with desire and an odd resigned look that made her re-wrap her arms around her upper body.

"What is it?"

Dean shook his head wordlessly, holding her at arms length.

Cautious, Jaime ran a hand along his arm.

"Don't you want me?"

Dean made an almost inaudible choked noise before chuckling.

"God, yes, Jaime. But this isn't what _you_ want."

Jaime opened her mouth to protest, but Dean pushed onwards.

"You spend all this time putting up walls between yourself and everyone around you, because you think it's safer to be alone, and then you try and jump me the night before we really go after this thing? Either you don't think you're coming back, or you're grasping at easy sex in a bid to feel better."

Jaime gaped at him, unsure of what to say, before rage flooded her eyes and she yanked herself out of his grip.

"So you're saying that you've spent all this time coming onto me, pretending you're my boyfriend to my uncle, dropping hint after hint that you're interested in being more than just a hunting partner, and now when it comes down to it you're telling me 'no'?"

Dean ran his hands through his short hair and looked shrewd.

"Jaime, we both know that I want to do this," he raised his hands to stop her as she moved towards him again, "_but_ I've seen the way Sam's been looking at you with those puppy dog eyes, and I've caught you watching him back. Why aren't you here with him right now?"

Jaime's eyes darkened with confusion.

"I don't understand."

Dean sighed, falling onto the sofa and looking suddenly tired.

"What I'm trying to say, Jaime, is that sleeping with me is just as anonymous as sleeping with that random guy you first picked up at the hotel. You know what I'm like, how I work, and it's easier to jump me than for you to deal with your feelings for Sammy. Plus, as cheesy as I know it sounds, you'd give Sam a reason to hope, to realise that maybe there's more to his life than simply killing."

Jaime's fists clenched and she stared at Dean angrily, her jaw tightening with humiliation.

"That's it? That's your reason for rejecting me after chasing me relentlessly like a dog with a bone? Well, fine. I'd hate to _inflict_ myself on you. My apologies."

And with that she stormed from the room, tears of humiliation and rage threatening to spill from her eyes.

Dean sat back on the sofa, covering his face with his hands and gritting his teeth.

"Man, it's hard being the self-sacrificing hero sometimes." He muttered beneath his breath before glancing down at his lap from beneath his palms.

"_Really_ hard."

Adjusting his jeans, Dean stood and padded silently to his room.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Many thanks to all who have left reviews! I really appreciate the feedback. Please note that updates might be slow from now on as I deal with essay deadlines and final-year examinations. Thanks!

The following morning, Jaime was unusually quiet, a thoughtful expression on her face. She'd wanted to hold onto the anger that had arisen in her after Dean's speech; wanted to cling to it whilst the fire of her rage purified her being, erasing all other emotions and leaving her hard and strong. But as soon as she'd made it back to her room, the fight had left her, and she'd sat on her windowsill, her face pressed to the cool glass of the window as she watched the trees in the yard sway under a gentle breeze.

She wanted to deny what he'd said; wanted to yell at him that what she wanted was true and pure, and what she wanted was him. But even in her own mind it rang false. Yes, she liked Dean; yes, he was so easy to talk to and be with, and, yes, he was unquestionably attractive to her, but it was true what he'd said: sleeping with him would be as easy and faceless as the sex she had with the men she picked up at bars. Maybe with Dean there'd be more genuine enjoyment, something beyond her body merely fulfilling a need, but she could still walk away without feeling as if she were breaking apart. But with Sam. . .

He infuriated her, honestly. When she looked into his dark brown eyes, she saw an innocence there that was far too tenacious. Like a tiny, broken thing it clung on despite all he'd seen, all he'd witnessed, all he'd _done._ She longed to grab him, to shake him, to scream that life was cruel and hard and cold, and he had no right, no _goddamn right_, to keep seeing the beauty in it; to keep being so sweet and open-hearted, to keep reaching out to her when all she wanted was to hide away. With Sammy, if she took his hand, she knew she couldn't simply let it go. He wouldn't let her. And that was terrifying.

Jaime wanted to deny everything Dean had told her but, when she tried, her mind faltered. Whether what he had said was true or not, all she knew was that when she finally curled up in her bed to sleep that night, she cried for longer and harder than she had in years, and afterwards she slept peacefully; no nightmares, no restlessness, just smooth, perfect sleep.

She woke before her alarm and squeezed in a few hard laps in the pool before she showered and padded into the kitchen for breakfast. She was the first up and put the coffee on to brew before sitting silently at the kitchen table. When the brothers came down, showered and fresh-faced, she managed a smile and busied herself preparing food, though Sam gently took the pans from her hands and insisted he cook for them that morning. When he smiled down at her, his body close to hers, she felt a little clench in her chest, and wanted to smack the pan into Dean's smug, smirking face.

Sitting down at the table once more, she glared at him as his handsome face smiled back impassively. She wanted to be angry with him still (and hoped desperately that he hadn't noticed the tell-tale pink rings around her eyes) but at his teasing look she found a smile tugging at her lips and stuck her tongue out at him, his warm chuckle filling the room and making the tension in her shoulders ease. She could brood later. For now, food.

Afterwards, Jaime didn't have any spare time to waste on idle chitchat and rushed off to her room to finish packing the outfits she needed for the show, as well as some items that she was pretty sure none of the other would-be beauty queens were packing. She was just checking to make sure she'd packed her thigh-holster to wear for the evening dress portion of the competition when a polite knock sounded at her door.

She called a quick 'come in' before burying her head in her wardrobe as she looked for the thin silk scarf that matched her ball dress.

"Jaime, uhm, someone from the show rang for you."

Jaime leaned back out of the wardrobe and turned to look at Sam who was standing a little awkwardly in her doorway. She gestured for him to come in and sit down, her heart tripping a little at the sight of him. She really did not have time for crazy emotions, right now, and made a concerted effort not to replay Dean's little speech in her head as she watched Sam move to sit on her bed, resting his hands in his lap self-consciously.

"It was one of the judges. He was just checking that you remembered the deadline for arrival is 10 am."

Jaime sighed in exasperation as she threw a pair of (in her opinion) outrageous heels into her bag.

"Those judges are like freakin' drill instructors, Sam. Seriously, I'd rather be forced to chop wood again than have to spend another evening being taught all about the fine art of how to walk so my butt looks small and my bust looks big."

Sam laughed, leaning back on the bed and relaxing.

"They really teach you that?"

Jaime threw him a smile. "Yes, actually. For once I am not being a smart ass. Here, watch."

She threw her arms out to the side at 40 degree angles, flicking her wrists so that her hands pointed up coyly, and started walking across the room.

"Point and step, point and step." She trilled in a mocking voice, walking so that she appeared to glide across the floor, her shoulders back and chest pushed forwards. Sam coughed a laugh, looking down at the floor briefly before his eyes travelled back to the sight of her theatrics. Finally reaching the adjacent wall, Jaime dropped easily into a defensive crouch, scooping up her final pair of shoes, and drop-kicked them into her rucksack.

"Booyah!" She yelled before catching sight of Sam's laughing face and feeling suddenly awkward.

"Sorry, must be nerves." She muttered as she hurried to her bag, her face hot.

Sam crouched down next to her and finished zipping up the duffel bag. He cleared his throat softly, before looking at her with an earnest expression.

"You know you'll do great, right?"

Jaime fiddled with the strap of her bag and tried not to meet his eyes.

"At the contest or at catching this thing?"

He smiled that lopsided smile of his whilst her stomach exploded into a flurry of anxious butterflies.

"Both."

He paused, looking down at the floor whilst he collected his thoughts; a small frown marring his forehead.

"Jaime, you're. . . well, you're incredible."

Jaime stared pointedly at the bag, not looking at him for fear of what she'd see in his face. The fluttering in her stomach growing more intense as she watched him move towards her out of the corner of her eye, she stood up suddenly.

"Can we not do this now?"

Sam stood slowly, looking confused.

"Do what?"

Jaime sighed. "What is it with you Winchesters? Are you purposefully dense, or do you work at it?"

At the shocked look in Sam's eyes, Jaime pushed on, the anger building inside of her.

"Honestly, first I have Dean sniffing around my skirt like I'm just some piece of tail, and when I finally want to get down, he turns all Yoda on me. And now I have you doing your kicked puppy, "oh, I'm so sweet and fragile, just love me" routine."

Sam took a step forward, his frown deepening.

"Jaime, what the hell are you talking about?"

She threw up her arms and spun to face him, looking furious.

"This, ok? What's going on between us here." She gestured wildly between the two of them. "You telling me I'm incredible, me running away. You following. Me running further."

She started pacing, agitation making her steps quick and uneven, muttering to herself.

"Goddamn Dean and his Yoda bullshit. I should never have allowed myself to let him get to me." She looked at Sam quickly before turning away angrily as he stood there, frozen by confusion.

"I know what I want and, dammit, it's not this! You'll both be leaving in a few days and then where will I be? I _do _know what I want though, right? Right? And who knows if we'll even find this thing, if we'll even make it back alive."

Turning around and facing Sam, she took a deep, angry breath before muttering, "Oh, screw it!" and pushed up on her tiptoes to kiss him, taking advantage of his gasp of surprise to lean in deeper, her lips firm and demanding.

Pulling back from him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, she peered up into his dark eyes.

"See? Nothing."

And then he was grabbing her, or she was grabbing him, and they were kissing again; his hands sliding beneath her shirt as her fingers ran through his hair. Her body on fire, she managed to break away just long enough to glance at the clock.

"The judge said 10am as a deadline, right?"

Sam nodded between pressing scorching hot kisses along the curve of her neck.

"Oh, good."

And then they tumbled backwards onto the bed.


	14. Chapter 14

Grey Mirror Sky14

Later, the three of them seated around the kitchen table, Sam's fingers brushing against her thigh tenderly, Jaime purposefully tried to put the previous hour out of her mind. Though Dean's knowing smirk wasn't helping. Promising herself she'd deal with what she'd just done after the show, Jaime unrolled the plan of the community centre Dean had drawn and lent forward.

"Ok, here's the deal: you two are to watch the two primary exits; one here at the front, and one at the back. The other 4 exits, including the emergency ones, are being covered by some hired help."

At Sam's raised eyebrow, she smiled winningly.

"Hey, my trust fund has to be good for something, right?" Sobering, she continued.

"These guys are from a highly recommended company and I've used them before so don't worry about it. They have a picture of the guy we're looking for and, unless he's changed his appearance drastically. . ."

"Which is a possibility", Dean muttered.

Jaime nodded. "True, but if he hasn't, they'll be on him faster than butter on toast!"

At their blank looks, she coughed.

"Anyway, the point is that if anyone tries to leave with one of the contestants they'll know about it and let me know. I also have both your cells on my speed-dial, so you'll know when I do." She took a breath and forced a smile. "Otherwise it's just a case of getting through the damn show and then watching the three finalists like hungry hawks."

Sam smiled and squeezed her hand.

"You'll do great, Jaime. Really."

She blushed, partly due to his sincerity and partly due to the lipstick stain she'd only just noticed on his collar. Dean followed her gaze, a slow grin spreading across his face. Jaime stood up with a cough before he could speak.

"Ok, guys, let's do this thing."

Sam laughed.

"You sound like you're going to war, not a beauty contest."

Jaime shrugged. "Same thing, only one requires less makeup."

By some miracle, Jaime made it through the show without killing anyone or breaking an ankle in her ridiculous heels. Her bikini outfit went down as well as it had at the audition, and when some male members of the audience had started catcalling, she'd obliged them with a saucy salute and shake of the hips, whilst wondering if Sam was out there watching.

All through the show her stomach had been a tight pit of nerves. Although it was intimidating to stand half-naked on the stage in front of so many people, what was really getting to her was the knowledge that _he_ could be out there; the monster that had taken so many lives. She wondered if he was watching the stage now as he plotted which young woman to destroy. . . .

When the show was almost over, the final three contestants about to be chosen, Sam came to the dressing room doorway and Jaime hurried over.

"Anything?"

He shook his head, eyes troubled.

"Nothing at all, Jaime. No one has met the description of this guy, all the women are accounted for, and nothing out of the ordinary has occurred."

Jaime bit her lower lip and looked up at Sam with wide, worried eyes.

"Do you think he's not coming?"

Sam lent against the doorframe and sighed. "Maybe he's waiting for the final three to be announced? Letting the judges choose his victim for him?"

Jaime shivered at the thought, and Sam reached out a hand to rub her bare arm.

"I'm sorry, Jaime. I didn't mean to worry you."

She shook her head and smiled at him.

"I guess there's still one competition left, right? The three finalists will all be back here tomorrow night to find out which one is going to be Miss California."

Sam nodded and chanced a smile.

"I have a bet with Dean that you'll make the final cut."

Jaime gaped at him.

"You're kidding, right?"

Sam shook his head, grinning wickedly, looking boyishly handsome and charming.

"I'm serious. And I know I'm gonna be twenty bucks richer in an hour."

Jaime started to laugh but her breath was stolen away by a sudden kiss. She leaned into it briefly before pulling away, her heart racing.

"Good luck." Sam breathed against her ear before kissing her nose and returning to his assigned post at the front exit.

Jaime watched him go with a smile before shaking herself and fighting her way to the mirror to check that her eyeliner hadn't migrated to give her panda eyes.

"C'mon, girl, focus." She muttered before squaring her shoulders and taking up position backstage, waiting for her cue.

Twenty minutes later, and the finalists were about to be called. All the women were pressed eagerly into the small backstage area, anxious to hear who would get to return the following day for the final. Jaime yawned widely as the first woman was called, the squealing from the women around her threatening to burst her eardrums. When the second woman (no more than a girl, really, at a tender seventeen years of age) was announced and practically skipped onto the stage, Jaime rolled her eyes and started pushing through the throng to head back to the dressing room. And then a tinny voice called her name, and the women around her were squealing and pushing her back towards to the stage.

Jaime stepped out beneath the lights, blinking in surprise and forcing a smile as she was grabbed eagerly by the seventeen year old and pulled out to accept her bouquet of flowers. Looking around her in mystification, it finally clicked that she'd been chosen as the third finalist. On the one hand, this would make their job easier tomorrow, but on the _other_ hand the judges were clearly nuts. . .

Still in shock, and wondering what the hell had happened, Jaime didn't see the announcer walking towards her with the microphone held out. As he lent forward to ask her how she felt, a wide showman's grin on his face, Jaime lifted her head as realisation at her situation dawned and said, "Oh, _bullshit_", her voice ringing around the community centre.

Later, sprawled on the sofa, her head in Sam's lap and the bouquet thrown lazily by her feet, Jaime covered her face with her hands and laughed.

"I still can't believe this! The judges must all be on crack!"

Sam chuckled and stroked her hair.

"No, they're just observant. They can see how amazing you really are."

Jaime waved a hand dismissively even as she snuggled deeper against him.

"You're just saying that because you want to get laid." At his wide grin, she blushed. "I mean again, that is."

Laughing, he rested a hand on her stomach, the warmth of his palm emanating through the evening dress she still wore.

"Do you think Dean will be in any fit state to hunt after tonight?"

Sam shook his head, a pleasant smile on his handsome face.

"Who knows? How many of the contestants did you say he left with?"

Jaime tried to keep a straight face.

"Three."

"He probably won't be able to walk straight, then."

Jaime howled with laughter until Sam swatted at her with a pillow, making her roll onto her knees and playfully grab hold of his wrists. Pinning them by his side, she smiled down at him, her smile slowly fading as a thoughtful look entered her eyes.

"You're a strange one, Sammy. Sweet, gentle, _funny_, and yet oddly alone."

His eyes darkened, though his lips still curled upwards in a small smile. Jaime wondered what he wanted to say, but she silenced him with a kiss, her lips softly insistent. She was just running her fingers through his hair when there was a crash from outside.

Sitting up and looking alert, Jaime scanned the living room windows. Seeing nothing, she disentangled herself from Sam, the long skirt of her ball gown billowing slightly and almost tripping her. Reaching out to steady her, Sam stood, his face serious and focused.

"Stay here, I'll check it out."

Jaime huffed. "It's my house, Sam!" She paused. "Ok, well, my _uncle's _house but I'm old enough to check out suspicious noises by myself."

Sam pinned her with a long, assessing look and she snapped her mouth shut, trying not to pout in frustration.

"Fine, fine; go check it out. Be the big man whilst I wait here like a damsel in distress."

He chuckled, ducking his head to kiss her briefly before heading for the kitchen and the backdoor.

Jaime hovered by the sofa waiting, growing agitated as the wait grew longer. After a few minutes, she couldn't stand it anymore and picked up her skirt in both hands as she strode towards the back door.

"Sam?" She started to call out when the buzzer rang. Running back towards the front of the house, Jaime skidded along the smooth hall floor and threw open the front door, expecting to be greeted with the sweet smile of Sam. Instead, she was face to face with one of the contest judges.

He was tall, maybe 5 inches taller than her in her bare feet, with thick blond hair that fell foppishly across his forehead and deep blue eyes. His pale suit was dishevelled and he looked flustered.

"Jaime, I'm so sorry to barge down here like this but I saw you talking frequently with the other contestants and thought you could help."

Blinking in surprise, Jaime lent against the door, forgetting to ask him in.

"What is it?"

The man fidgeted, wringing his hands together before looking at her from beneath long, sooty lashes.

"One of the finalists, Natasha, has gone missing. She rang me just a little while ago, saying she was being followed."

Jaime's heart started beating rapidly as a flood of adrenaline rushed through her.

"You called the cops, right?"

He nodded. "Yes, of course." He shrugged, lifting his arms to the side hopelessly. "I just feel so lost and I thought maybe you'd know if something was wrong? You always seemed so attentive of the other contestants."

Jaime didn't want to ruin his image of her by admitting that she'd only been so interested in them in order to hunt down a gruesome, serial killing monster. Instead she crossed her legs beneath her long skirt, the feel of her thigh holster reassuring her.

The man before her looked at her beseechingly.

"I thought maybe you could help me look for her?"

Jaime nodded, her eyes dark and distracted as she ran through possible ways to catch this monster before he hurt Natasha. She was only seventeen, for god's sake. . .

"Let me just grab a jacket."

Jaime was just running back to the kitchen when she remembered that Sam was still missing.

Fresh fear rushing through her, she ran to the backdoor, about to throw it open when a hand clapped over her mouth.

A bitter, chemical scent filled her nostrils and she fought desperately against her attacker's body, the struggle only elevating her breathing and causing the drug to enter her blood stream even faster.

Her eyes slowly falling shut, her muscles unclenching and turning limp, Jaime's final thought before unconsciousness overcame her was a fervent wish that Sam was ok, and the absolute certainty that Dean would find them.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's note: Updates might still be a little slow, but I'm hoping to have this finished very soon. Thanks for your patience and feedback!**

Jaime dreamed. . . .

She was standing at the top of a wide staircase that fell away from her in an unending line of steps. Her feet were bare and warm water was streaming past her, as high as her ankles, it's gentle caress irresistibly soothing. One pale hand on the ornate banister, she took a careful step down; following the water as it rushed away from her, the dim lights above her reflected in its molten stream.

_Slowly, cautiously, she made her way down the stairs, the full skirt of her ball gown growing so wet that it weighed her down, forcing her to pile it up in her hands and carry the thick weight of it as she moved onwards. After what felt like an age of descending, she came to a long expanse of floor. In the centre, something caused the flow of water to part, moving around it like a stream around pebbles; bubbling and gurgling as it carried on in a liquid shimmer._

_Looking closely, she saw that the object was long and oval with a surface that rippled like water. At first, she suspected it was pool but as she slowly crept forwards, she could see it was a mirror. Gazing at the gilt frame, it looked strangely familiar. . . _

_As if of her own volition, she stretched out a hand towards its surface; lowering her body into a crouch so she could be closer to it. Slowly she became aware of movement and she watched in mute interest as the gold carvings in the ancient frame began to move; seeming to swim together like a shoal of fishes. Her fingers barely brushing the surface of the mirror now, she peered closer at the frame, a feeling of horror filling her as she realised the carvings were people, and they weren't swimming; they were drowning; pulling at each other desperately in a bid to stay above the sucking water, their tiny mouths open in silent screams._

"_Jaime."_

_She spun around at the sound of someone whispering her name, standing so quickly that she lost her footing and began to fall backwards. Arms reaching out desperately, she fell, feeling as if she were moving in slow motion. With barely a sound, she fell against the mirror's surface, feeling the viscous material of it give beneath her. Struggling, the heavy folds of her dress merely getting in her way, she gasped with fear as hands rose from the liquid beneath her to grab at her form; pulling her slowly, slowly, beneath the surface._

_Screaming, she felt as the water filled her nose and mouth. . . . _

Jaime woke in a panic, realising fuzzily that the water in her dream was real and that every time she breathed she was inhaling more of it. Gasping, her head thrown forwards, she broke the surface of the water and took in huge lungfuls of air, her chest aching as she began to cough up water.

Panic rising fast, Jaime tried to stand, only to find that her movement was almost completely restricted. Struggling, she found herself bobbing beneath the surface again and so forced herself to remain still. Taking in steady, but shaky, breaths, she willed herself to be calm.

Her head still filled with snatches of dream images, Jaime moved her arms feeling them almost instantly make contact with smooth sides. Feeling along them, she carefully moved her feet, feeling the skirt of her ball gown move sluggishly in the water. Ok, so she was still dressed and, she pressed her thighs together, she still had her thigh holster. Feeling along the smooth walls, it felt like she was in some kind of chamber. Everything was dark, and as she kicked her feet she made contact with the floor.

Mind still sluggish from the drug, Jaime tried to put what she could feel together, her eyes wide against the dark. It felt like she was floating in 8, maybe 12, inches of water; water so perfectly warm that she could barely feel where her body ended and it began. When she had woken up struggling, she'd dipped her head beneath the water, but if she lay still she would float gently. Sitting up wasn't an option as the roof was only a few inches above her, smooth and curved. Wracking her brain, willing the fogginess to abate, she remembered reading about these capsules once upon a time. They were supposed to be calming. . . .

Jaime resisted the urge to laugh hysterically, knowing that panic was only a heartbeat away. She lay perfectly still in the water, listening to her heartbeat and the sound of her forced steady breathing. As her mind began to shake off the effects of the drugs, Jaime thought of Sammy. Was he dead? Was he in one of these capsules too; scared and alone?

Feeling panic start to rise in her chest, Jaime forced her mind away from Sam, knowing that worrying would do neither of them any good. She was just beginning to recall the events of the evening when light hit her face, making her squeeze her eyes shut tight as colourful dots danced across her vision. There was a click and then a tinny voice issued from a speaker by her right ear, sounding muffled through the water.

"Ahh, you're awake. Let's get you out of there, shall we?"

There was a hiss, like air compressing, and then the roof of the capsule swung upwards and out, leaving Jaime blinking into the light of the room. Incredibly strong hands reached for her, pulling her from the water. She wanted to struggle but the drugs had made her clumsy and weak so that all she could do was fall against her captor helplessly, her mind racing as she tried to take in her surroundings, her eyes still adjusting to the light.

She heard his voice as if from a distance, "I find the tank very soothing, and thought you might appreciate its rejuvenating effect."

Looking around her, blinking at the sensory onslaught, Jaime saw that she was in a large parlour room filled with attractive mahogany furniture, tables filled with intricate knick-knacks, and high walls lined with tasteful art. A large shape on the farthest wall caught her eye but before she could focus on it properly strong fingers closed around her chin and turned her head.

Staring into the eyes of her captor, the night's events came rushing back to her, and she tried to fight once more, feeling her heart pound painfully as the contest judge laughed at her pathetic attempt at freedom and spun her gracefully in his arms, waltzing her across the room. Her legs dragged heavily behind her as she failed to find her feet, the sudden movement causing a powerful wave of nausea to rush through her. The man spun her into a chair, which she fell into heavily, bruising the backs of her legs and making her cry out in pain. She hung her head, panting, wet tendrils of hair snaking over her trembling shoulders. Cruel fingers laced their way through those dark lengths and yanked her head back so that she was staring into a pair of bright blue eyes.

Swallowing hard, Jaime tried to remember the judge's name.

"Jim Smith." She croaked, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth. "One of the most blatant aliases now I come to think of it."

'Jim' chuckled.

"What? You didn't really think I would live a few hundred years and not learn to fake documents?"

His voice was rich and smooth, so totally at odds with the monster she knew him to be.

She tried to sneer but her muscles were still largely unresponsive and she only managed to bare her teeth at him in what looked like a feral smile.

"But why the blonde locks? Trying to pass yourself off as a native?"

He chuckled again, blue eyes suddenly twinkling with mischief.

"What this?" He gestured at his hair with his hands, elegant fingers splaying, and as they did so Jaime watched as his hair changed colour, from root to tip, into a sooty black. When he blinked next, his eyes had changed from that startling blue to a brown so dark his irises blended almost perfectly with his pupils. It was, without a doubt, the man she had been hunting.

Head growing increasingly clearer, Jaime sneered, "Neat trick. What is it, magic?"

Her captor shook his head, sauntering behind her and grabbing her wrists, holding them behind her chair as he worked on restraining her. Knowing fighting was useless until the effects of the drugs had fully worn off, Jaime focused on keeping a slight gap between her wrists even as his hard squeezing caused stabs of pain to rush up her arms. Gritting her teeth she waited for him to finish tying her to the chair, her chest heaving, causing her breasts to strain against the wet silk of her gown.

Satisfied that she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, Jim walked around to face her, gazing down at her imperiously, his fine features lit attractively by the subdued parlour lighting.

"It started as magic, actually; this ability I have. I learnt it a long time ago, and it cost me dearly, but over time it's become a part of me."

Lazily he pulled up a chair and sprawled into it, resting one long leg over the arm whilst watching her from beneath sooty eyelashes that left crescent shadows on his skin.

"And now look at me. Five hundred years on and I'm as attractive as ever."

He laughed to himself whilst Jaime's mind raced and her fingers felt out the ropes holding her to the chair. For now, keeping him talking was her safest option.

"So am I supposed to be flattered that I met your strict criteria?"

Jim rested his chin in one hand and gazed at her with amusement shining in his black eyes.

"Oh, you're an exception, my dear."

Seeing the confusion in her eyes, he sighed long-sufferingly.

"Oh come now, you didn't really think you'd make the final three in a beauty contest unless someone was rigging it, do you?"

He waved a hand. "I mean, look at you. Yes, you do take after your mother in some regards and are quite attractive, but your thighs are too big, your upper body is far too muscular to be acceptable, and of course there's that hideous scar." He wrinkled his nose, as if even mentioning her disfigurement was highly unpleasant for him.

Jaime frowned, trying to ignore the clench in her gut at the mention of her mother.

"You rigged the contest?"

Jim sighed and kicked out his legs so they rested in front of him.

"Do keep up, dear. Yes, I rigged the contest so you'd make the final cut."

"But why?"

He smiled slowly, spreading his hands before him.

"For fun! How often do I get the chance to play with one of your kind?"

Jaime looked confused. "My kind. . . Do you mean a descendent of one of your victims?"

Jim laughed now, watching her with interest, looking like a sleek cat waiting for its prey to do something worthy of its attention.

"Oh no. I've taken many descendents before. Genetics are so wonderful, no? Creating beautiful generations of women for me to enjoy." He stretched lazily.

"No, you, my dear, are special because you are a hunter. Or," he chuckled, "to use a popular reference, a _slayer_."

Jaime's heart skipped a beat. Up until now she'd been telling herself that if he, if _it_, didn't know the true intent of Jaime and the Winchesters then maybe, just maybe, he'd let Sam live; choosing merely to incapacitate him. But if he knew they were hunters. . . .

Trying not to let her panic show, Jaime's fingers worked faster on her bonds.

"Ahh, you figured it out, huh? Did my bikini outfit give the game away?"

He laughed, every note ringing with pure delight, like a child or an indulgent parent.

"It confirmed my suspicions, yes."

Jaime tossed her head, trying to remove a wet strand of hair from out of her eyes.

"Well, now you have me. The hunted successfully became the hunter. Brava. But what did you do to my friend? My family?"

Jim leaned back in his chair, looking bored.

"Oh, your uncle is fine. He probably doesn't even know you're missing yet, and your little boyfriend will wake up with a sore head but nothing more. I'm not interested in mere trifles like them."

Jaime's heart soared and she fought desperately to keep the euphoria she felt from showing on her face. _He didn't kill Sammy! He doesn't know what they are! I might just survive this. . . ._

"But enough of this."

Jim stood, his body unfolding in one long, graceful line, looking for all the world like a living sculpture. In fact, he was appearing more ethereal with each passing second.

"You and I, my dear, need to spend some quality time together. I need you to truly understand what I am."

Something flashed in his hand, and as he advanced towards her, Jaime realised with growing fear that he was holding a long, curved blade.


	16. Chapter 16

Leaning back in her chair, Jaime's eyes were fixed on the curve of the blade as it advanced towards her. Trying to ascertain whether she could pull off a fierce enough kick in the heavy weight of her skirt, her thoughts raced past, fuelled on by fear. She was about to risk it when he was upon her; standing above her so that her legs were between his. With a vice-like grip on her thighs, she was trapped beneath him, her chest rising and falling as ice-cold fear washed over her.

"Now, now, my dear, don't look like that. I'm not going to hurt you. Much."

He purred, and Jaime swallowed hard.

"That would be easier to believe if I weren't sitting beneath you, restrained, whilst you loom over me with a fucking knife pointed at my throat."

Jim laughed. "Loom; I like that. I enjoy the image of the big bad monster looming over the sweet damsel in distress."

He leaned towards her, the tip of the knife coming to rest in the indentation between her collarbone so that her pulse raced against its sharp edge.

"Although, you're not really that sweet, are you, my angel?" His head moved next to hers so this his lips brushed against her ear as he talked, making her shiver.

"I saw how those men looked at you, and I know all about your little boyfriend. Did you enjoy how they fought over you?"

The tip of the blade began to trail down her sternum, and Jaime held her breath, afraid to speak or move; almost too afraid to breathe.

"I get the sense that you would have liked to have sampled _each_ brother before you made your choice, but, alas, you seemed to have settled for the younger of the two. I suppose he's quite sweet, in a kicked puppy sort of way, but you could do so much better, my dear."

His lips were almost a caress against her cheek now, but Jaime's whole focus was on the tip of the knife as it dipped between her cleavage, scratching her skin without quite drawing blood.

"Your mother was much more virginal."

Jaime's heart skipped a beat, and her fists clenched as she fought down the urge to surge up at him angrily.

Leaning back, he watched her with mocking amusement.

"Oh yes, she'd be so very disappointed in you."

With a sudden slash, he jerked the knife down her bodice, ripping it open and creating one fine cut down the length of Jaime's stomach. Slowly, tiny beads of blood began to appear and gather along that red line, as her breath came in startled gasps.

"Oh dear," Jim practically crooned, "I seem to have added to your awful disfigurement."

Laughing, he raked a finger along the ragged surface of the cut, gathering up the delicate beads of blood and licking them off the tip of one pale finger.

"Delicious." He purred, before leaning back to admire his handiwork, his gaze lowering to the livid scar that curled around her right side. A frown marred the pale perfection of his forehead.

"I can cure that, my dear. I can make you so beautiful."

Finding her voice now that the knife was no longer pressed against her, Jaime sneered.

"Oh, so you're a plastic surgeon now, too?"

Jim laughed. "Do not tempt me to cut you more, my sweet." He flicked a wrist elegantly in a dismissive gesture. "I refer instead to my magic; my special brand of eternal life. It does more than merely making me immortal, my dear. Indeed, it makes one so beautiful it will come to hurt everyone who gazes upon you."

He stroked her hair tenderly and Jaime tried not to wince away from his touch.

"I could make you even more beautiful than your mother."

Jaime's stomach clenched and she fought down a wave of anger that threatened to cloud her judgement. At the back of her mind she knew that she needed to stall this monster long enough for Dean to return home and find Sam. She just hoped Sam had caught a glimpse of his attacker. . . . Either way, she had total faith that Dean would find her, but having to sit through this vile _thing_ talk about her mother was testing the limits of what she could bear.

Seeing the battle of emotions in her eyes, Jim cocked his head like a curious animal.

"Ahh, you hate it when I speak of her, I see, but you would have been so proud. She wasn't like the others."

Practically spitting with fury and straining at her bonds, Jaime hissed, "Is this where you tell me how beautiful and special she was? And how much it pained you to be the instrument of her destruction?"

Jim leaned back, looking a little surprised.

"My dear, you are incredibly poetic when enraged. It's really quite beautiful."

He reached out to stroke her cheek and this time she did jerk away from him; glaring at him with dark eyes full of hate. He merely chuckled, twirling the knife in his hand gracefully as he disentangled himself from her and paced before her seat.

"Your mother certainly _was_ beautiful, indeed. When I first saw her at that amateur beauty contest, my heart skipped a beat. Everything about her was perfection; the curve of her jaw, the smooth creaminess of her skin, and that raven black hair." He sighed. "So stunning. And special? Oh yes."

He laughed playfully, throwing the blade and catching it without missing a beat in his stride.

"Usually I seduce my victims but your mother was an exception. She was so dedicated to your father; to you." He threw her a glance, seemingly oblivious to her growing fury.

"No, with her I had to be forceful. Although," he grinned wickedly, "that can be enjoyable too."

Jaime snarled, hands working at the ropes that bound her so fiercely that her skin was already raw and bleeding. Jim merely laughed at her outrage.

"Oh, does it upset you that I might have violated her? Might have raped her there on her own marriage bed?"

Jaime felt the bile rise in her throat as she glared up at the monster before her.

"You sick son of a bitch!"

He threw back his head and laughed, dark hair falling attractively around his pale face, and then quick as a flash his arm whipped out and slapped her. The chair rocked at the blow, and Jaime winced as she felt her lower lip split, the bitter tang of blood filling her mouth.

"Foul language is so uncouth, my dear. Please do not do that again."

She looked at him from beneath the falling tendrils of her hair, panting slightly at the pain of his fierce slap, remaining silent. He nodded briefly, approvingly, before returning to his pacing.

"Your mother was a fighter. And even to her last breath, her primary concern was you."

Jaime's heart clenched painfully, and she felt her already stretched nerves twang as the grief surrounding her mother's death rose up in her like a black cloud, threatening to overwhelm her.

_No!_ Jaime yelled at herself, squaring her shoulders and clenching her aching jaw. She couldn't give in now. She couldn't let this be the moment where she broke down; when the grief finally overtook her. This monster wanted to play with her; was no better than a pampered cat with a wounded mouse, but she wouldn't give him the pleasure of watching her break. She simply couldn't allow that.

Sucking on her split lip, fighting down a wince, Jaime looked at her captor with feigned interest.

"And then you sucked the life out of her." She forced herself to disconnect from her words, focusing her mind on the feel of her thigh holster as it pressed against her inner thigh. She only needed to distract him for long enough. . . .

Jim nodded. "That is one way to put it, yes."

He pulled up a nearby chair and flopped down in it, sprawling out gracefully as his long fingers continued to twirl the lethal-looking blade.

"Even now I'm not entirely sure what it is I take from them. I suppose you could call it their essence, the ethereal substance that makes people truly alive; perhaps even their _soul_." His eyes flashed with dark mirth before he smiled languidly.

"All I know is that it's so _erotic_. Pinning them to the bed, feeling them struggle pathetically beneath me, my lips brushing theirs before that sweet nectar flows into me; rejuvenating my powers, renewing me life."

He closed his eyes and shivered happily. "So perfect."

Slowly his eyes opened, focusing on her face as a small smile tugged at his perfect bow mouth.

"And it could be yours, my dear. You are so captivating."

Jaime couldn't resist a derisive snort, causing Jim to laugh happily as if she were the height of amusement.

"Oh, you do yourself a disservice, my dear. Yes, you are not the most beautiful woman I've encountered, but you could be. It's not your looks I care about anyway."

He stood now, unfolding gracefully, his movements so smooth that Jaime wondered if he were working some magic now; if he was allowing her to see him more as he really is, removing the glamour he used to pass in society and letting her see the demon he was at his core.

"I've come across hunters before, of course, but never a woman and never one so young. And _capable._ What a pleasure it's been to stalk you! And now that I have you here, well, it occurs to me that maybe you'd be an interesting distraction for the next few hundred years."

Jaime tossed her head, sending her wet hair out of her face so she could gaze up at her captor with narrowed, suspicious eyes as her fingers continued to work at the knots that bound her.

"And how would that work, exactly? What would you need to do to make a. . ." She paused and swallowed. "To make me one of your kind."

Jim twirled the blade in one hand whilst he used the other to caress her bare shoulder as he sauntered past her.

"A simply ritual, an exchange of blood." He shrugged, making the gesture somehow more elegant and enchanting than she'd ever witnessed before. "Nothing overt, my sweet. And then you could accompany me as I travel, assisting me in my ambitions, perhaps pitting your wits against the local hunters? I'm sure you'd like that."

Twisting her wrists, Jaime felt the rope begin to give and her heart raced with excitement. Trying to keep the euphoria from her face, her fingers, slick with blood, worked on the rough rope as she turned scornful eyes to Jim.

"Am I supposed to be flattered? We both know I'd just be a mild distraction, and that as soon as you tired of me I'd be eradicated. I have the sneaking suspicion you could remove the 'gift'", she fair well spat the word, "you claim you can give me."

Jim chuckled, crouching down before her and resting his pale hands on her thighs, his fingers caressing her flesh through the thick material of her skirt proprietarily.

"Perhaps. But isn't the mystery half of the fun?" His eyes flashed charmingly, and Jaime allowed herself to gaze into them, making him think she was captivated by his proposal as her fingers finally managed to slip the rope from off her wrists, catching it before it fell to the ground so as to not alert her captor.

Leaning forwards, holding her arms behind her, Jaime narrowed her eyes.

"Let me guess, you've made this speech before: attempting to make your prey feel special, offering them hope, before snatching it away from them. You're nothing more than a monster who acts like a spoilt child."

Jim's eyes darkened but he laughed, the sound a little brittle and harsh.

"Oh, you really are smart, aren't you, my pet?"

His arm flew out and he seized her around the throat, pushing her back in the chair and looming over her.

"Sucking your life from that smart mouth will be a great pleasure."

Jaime struggled to breathe around his iron grip, moving her lips as if she were trying to talk.

Frowning, his curiosity getting the better of him, as she knew it would, Jim loosened his grip and lent towards her.

"Pardon, my dear?"

Even though she could breathe again, Jaime continued to move her lips soundlessly, waiting until Jim bent his head close to her so that her mouth was against his ear.

"No kissing on the first date," She whispered, before bringing her fists up violently into his solar plexus, and throwing herself off the chair as she heard his breath escape in one long rush. Rolling as she hit the floor, and cursing her cumbersome dress, Jaime took cover beneath a nearby sofa, her hands already flying to the folds of her skirt in search of her thigh holster and therevolver therein.

Jim's breathless laugh filled the room, sounding oddly eerie in the silence, accompanied only by Jaime's pants of exertion.

"Come now, my dear. We both know you're outmatched here."

Staying hidden beneath the sofa, Jaime risked a peek around the edge, trying to move silently across the floor and getting tangled in her skirt. Cursing softly beneath her breath, she grabbed the edges of her ripped bodice and pulled it open further so she could wriggle free of the dress, removingthe small revolverfrom the thigh holster and crouching by the edge of the sofa in her underwear.

Peering slowly around the edge, trying to locate Jim's position, Jaime shrieked as she was seized suddenly by the hair. Without thinking, she rammed her elbow into his stomach, twisting in his grip and wincing as she felt a chunk of her hair tear from her scalp, before she kneed him in the groin and flung herself away from him; turning as she fell so that the gun was pointed at his head.

As Jim recovered and surged towards her, Jaime took a breath and fired.


	17. Chapter 17

Dean parked the Impala around the side of Jaime's uncle's house, whistling happily to himself as he strutted towards the backdoor. Tonight had been a lot of fun, and with three phone numbers in his jacket pocket and the lingering taste of lipstick and wine on his lips he was feeling particularly cheerful, perhaps even smug.

Walking silently towards the back door, aware that the household might be sleeping, or, he thought with a wicked grin, doing other more strenuous activities, and not wishing to wake them. As he rounded the side of the house, he saw a dark shape lying on the lawn and something in the back of his brain clicked even before his conscious mind recognised the image as someone sprawled unconscious on the grass. He was already running when he realised it was Sam, his pace quickening before he dropped next to his brother and grabbed his shoulder desperately, panic rising up in his chest like the tide.

"Sam! Shit, Sammy. . . wake up!"

When his brother rolled over slightly and started to groan, relief rushed through Dean's body, the violence of the emotion making him shudder. Helping his little brother into a sitting position, experienced fingers already feeling out the swollen lump on his skull, he waited for Sam to collect his bearings.

Dark eyes looking around him in confusion, they finally settled on Dean's face before widening with alarm.

"It was him! The judge!"

Trying to get to his feet, swaying with dizziness from the powerful blow to his head, Sam fought against his brother's grip. Steadying him, Dean carefully helped him stand, taking his weight easily despite their height difference.

"Easy, Sammy. Take it slow. Which judge?"

Becoming increasingly focused, Sam winced a little at the throbbing pain in his skull, fingers gingerly touching the back of his head.

"One of the contest judges. Blonde, blue eyes; we checked him out but he was clean. Apparently he had us fooled."

Sam was heading towards the Impala with the help of his brother's supporting body, but Dean stopped him.

"Woah, Sam. We need to think this through. You're saying one of the contest judges did this to you, and, I'm guessing from her absence, took Jaime?"

Sam nodded vigorously, before wincing at the pain such a movement caused.

"We have to get to her, Dean. I can't let anything happen to her."

Dean gave his brother an assessing look. "_We _can't, no. But first we need to find out where this guy lives, and hope he took her there."

Later, with Jim Smith's documents to hands, the brothers raced towards his house in the Impala. Sam clutched at his seat, knuckles white, his face pale and drawn with worry. Finally he sighed in the silence of the car and Dean glanced over at him quickly, noting the sad droop of his brother's shoulders.

"I should have been more careful, Dean. I let my guard down and this guy just walked up and took her. I was so stupid."

Dean flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, a subtle clue to his ownanxiety, before shaking his head.

"Sam, don't do this, ok? The guy took you by surprise. It's happened to us all, even dad. Let's just focus on getting Jaime back."

Sam nodded, clenching his jaw as his eyes darkened.

"How did we not see this coming? We did a full background check."

Dean sighed. "We always knew there was a very real possibility that this guy has learned how to stay hidden. We did the best we could, Sam; aside from the documentation, we checked out each of the judges personally and none of them acted in anyway suspiciously."

Sam looked down at the file that lay open across his lap.

"I don't get it, Dean. This guy doesn't look anything like the police photos, and we're not just talking wearing a wig here; his hair, his eyes, even the shape of his face all look different."

Dean looked thoughtful. "Some kind of trick?"

Sam fiddled with the documents in agitation. "Maybe a kind of glamour?"

"Glamour?"

Sam nodded. "Traditionally attributed to faeries, elves, mystical creatures like that. It's said to be a kind of magic that disguises their true form; making them more beautiful so humans will fall under their influence."

"So maybe this guy, this Jim Smith creature, uses his glamour merely to pass unnoticed in society?"

Sam nodded, his eyes dark and troubled.

"Exactly. It's why he looks so different, and it might even be how he gets his victims; making himself look appealing or safe. We won't know until we get there."

Staring out of the window as they raced along, Sam swallowed hard.

"What if we're too late, Dean? After Jess, I don't think I could bear it if.. . . ." He trailed off, unable to speak his deepest fear.

Dean's eyes narrowed and he eased his foot down on the accelerator, making the car surge forwards with a roar.

"We won't be, Sammy. We won't be."

They drove in tense silent for a while until Sam gripped the dashboard and peered out of the windshield.

"There! That's the turning."

Dean drove the Impala onto a steep driveway that curled away into an area thick and dark with trees. They were small and perfectly formed, as if someone had paid a lot of money for them to be planted to maintain privacy for the large, pale house the brothers could just about see lurking behind the lush foliage.

Racing up the driveway, they pulled in front of the house with a screech of brakes and a spray of gravel that clattered up against the wide porch. Sam was already throwing open the door of the Impala and stumbling from the vehicle. Dean called out to him.

"Sam, wait!" Exiting the car himself, he ran around and grabbed his brother.

"Don't be an idiot! We need to plan this, not just rush in there and get killed." Seeing the determined look on his brother's face, Dean added, "Or get Jaime killed".

Sam looked torn, gazing at the door to the house longingly, before nodding and following his brother to the trunk of the Impala. Silently, they collected an assortment of weapons before heading towards the house, crouching low as they neared the windows, though it was unlikely they hadn't been heard already.

Moving towards the nearest window, Dean waved for Sam to try the front door. It was as Sam was trying the lock when a gunshot rang out, and the brothers paused, their eyes locked as they stilled with horror. And then, as if the spell were broken, they both ran at the door, throwing their weight against it and stumbling inside as it gave beneath them.


	18. Chapter 18

Arms locked in a strong stance, Jaime eased her finger onto the trigger and squeezed, bracing herself at the recoil. She watched as Jim's head jerked as he staggered backwards, waiting for him to fall. With growing horror, Jaime watched as he slowly righted himself, rolling his shoulders before turning his face towards her. In the middle of his pale forehead, now looking ivory white in the dim lighting, was a dark and bloody bullet hole, but as Jaime watched the hole began to pucker and soon the compacted bullet was squeezed from the wound and the skin closed into smooth perfection.

Jaime gaped, too shocked to move.

"Oh, shit."

Jim chuckled, still rolling his head from side to side as if the healing process was uncomfortable.

"Sweetie? Were you not paying attention when I discussed my _immortality_?"

He took a step forward and the motion snapped Jaime out of her shocked state, making her roll to the side before jumping up, gun at the ready.

"Ok, so you won't die. But I can slow you down."

She fired again, aiming for his torso, hoping the violence of the shot would cause him to stumble back. It worked, and she started to inch away from him carefully, eyes searching for the quickest escape route.

Jim snarled. "Ok, Jaime. That's starting to get annoying."

"Oh, _do_ excuse me." She hissed before shooting him in the leg and making a run for the double doors to her left.

Her fingertips had just grazed the cool metal of the door handle when she was hit from behind. Falling against the doors, her face smacking into the wood with a loud crack causing shooting pains to emanate from her left cheek, Jaime struggled in Jim's fierce grip. Trying to twist her arm round so she could shoot his leg, Jaime gasped in pain as he brought his knee up into the small of her back, pinning her against the door whilst his hand clamped around her wrist, holding the gun away from himself.

Easing back just long enough to spin her around, Jim held Jaime against the door; hands pinning her wrists far away from her body as his hips pushed against her own, making it so she could barely even wriggle beneath the weight of his body. She gazed up into his eyes, panting, hair falling all over her face. Looking at him from so close, she noticed how he now looked almost totally unreal. His skin was unnaturally pale, almost a pure white, and as smooth as alabaster, whilst his eyes were now completely black and almost all iris: the whites were like a minor afterthought in the corner of each socket, and his eyelashes were soot black and girlishly long. That perfect bow mouth was twisted in a smug smile and yet he still looked so beautiful. He was like a statue, or a perfectly painted portrait.

Jaime swallowed, her body aching at how hard Jim was holding her to the door, her bare skin red from his fierce grip and treatment.

He smirked at her, leaning close.

"I grow bored of playing this ridiculous game of cat and mouse, Jaime. Time to get a taste of your fire, your passion, your _life_."

Jaime tried to turn her face away, knowing what was coming, but he released her left wrist in order to grab her chin in a painful grip, leaning in close so his lips were brushing against hers.

She raised her free hand to push him off when she felt a sensation like someone punching her in the solar plexus. It was as if all the air in her body were rushing out of her lungs, and darkness began to encroach upon her vision. Eyes wide with terror, Jaime felt as her own body betrayed her, becoming weak and useless as that rushing sensation continued to travel through her; her lungs on fire, and a dragging weakness tugging her closer and closer to unconsciousness.

With great effort, having to focus her whole being on the movement, Jaime somehow managed to reach between them just enough to grab hold of the gun from her right hand, Jim's feeding appearing to distract him enough so that he was unaware of her movements. Holding the revolver awkwardly in her left hand, Jaime eased her finger onto the trigger and pulled: firing into Jim's stomach.

He flew backwards, releasing her, and she slid to the ground: gasping and wheezing. Taking in huge lungfuls of air, Jaime tried to shake the odd lethargy that had settled upon her body, forcing herself to move, trying to stand. But she was clumsy and her adversary was supernatural, and so he was already standing behind her as she grasped onto the door handle with ungainly fingers. She could see Jim looming behind her out of the corner of her eye and was trying to work out a way to survive this when she heard what sounded like running footsteps out in the hall. She thought Jim must have heard it too because he pulled back slightly, and then the double doors were flying open, and the most magnificent sight met Jaime's eyes: the Winchester brothers, standing armed and ready for some ass kicking.

Sagging with relief, Jaime tumbled forwards through the doors, reaching for them both.

"Bullets don't effect him, they only slow him down! Try something from your supernatural arsenal."

Dean was already reaching into his jacket for a weapon whilst Sam crouched by Jaime, shielding her protectively with his body as his eyes searched her face, looking panicked.

"Jaime, god, are you ok?"

She nodded, grabbing hold of his arm and trying to pull herself up.

"Sam, I don't know how to kill this thing."

She opened her mouth to say more when she felt something fall against her, looking around to see Dean sprawled on his side, wincing with pain.

Sam jumped to his feet and advanced on Jim whilst Dean pulled himself up, throwing a wink Jaime's way before grimacing, bracing himself, and joining the fray. Cursing her body's recurrent clumsiness, Jaime staggered to her feet, her mind racing as she attempted to think of an effective weapon to take down this monster. Bullets didn't have any effect, which meant other conventional methods were out, and from the looks of things, even Dean's ample stash of supernatural weapons were having no effect.

Looking around the room in frustration, hoping for some kind of clue, something in the corner caught her eye and she remembered that she'd noticed it earlier. Throwing a worried glance at the Winchesters, and noting how they were doing ok so far in slowing Jim down, Jaime stumbled over to the object that had caught her attention. As she moved closer, she could see that it was an absolutely huge portrait in a gilt oval frame with an unusual design.

Peering closer, something in the back of her mind triggered and she recalled her nightmares; the oval mirror with the frame made of tiny figures drowning and struggling to survive. Her heart beat rapidly as she realised this was the exact same frame, and with a feeling of growing terror, she peered at the painting itself. In the centre was Jim, tall, beautiful, and staturesque in stunning period costume standing in the middle of a classic ballroom. Behind him, filling the room, and taking up every spare inch of the canvas were women; beautiful, sad looking women with eyes that seemed dark and endless, dressed in their gorgeous ball gowns like perfectly poised, painted dolls.

A lump growing in her throat, and her fingers clenching on the revolver she still held in her right hand, Jaime's eyes scanned the faces frantically until finally, there at the back, she saw what she both expected, longed for, and feared. There, half hidden behind a staturesque blonde, was her mother. The image was so lifelike that a pain flared in Jaime's chest and tears filled her eyes. Gazing at that familiar face, Jaime suddenly understood how Jim's magic worked, which meant she knew exactly what to do.

Spinning around, her eyes moving to watch the Winchesters struggle with Jim, who was looking less ethereal under their constant attack, Jaime called out to them.

"Hey asshole, I figured it out. I know all about your magic. And I know how to destroy _your_ essence."

She made sure she caught his black eyes with her own, letting him see the hate-filled, mercilessness of her gaze before she spun around, braced her arms into a strong firing stance, and shot the portrait; making sure the bullet went right through Jim's smooth, painted forehead.

She heard him scream in agony, but she didn't turn around; merely kept firing into that perfectly smiling portrait of the monster who had killed her mother; letting the image burn into her brain and squeezing the trigger until the bullets ran out. When they did, she fell upon the portrait, using the butt of the gun to tear into it. She was just drawing her arm back to strike it once more, when Jim's screaming stopped and a black cloud rushed out of the portrait, causing Jaime's hair to stream behind her; the force of the blast rocking her on her feet and threatening to throw her backwards.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Jaime felt the black cloud, filled with thousands of souls, rush past her. She could _feel_ their personalities as they passed; for a moment she experienced their hopes and dreams, fears and despair, and, of course, their gratitude. She felt them rushing past her to coalesce around Jim's disintegrating physical form; could see them in her mind's eye tearing _his_ essence apart, extracting their longed for revenge. Finally, just as the stream of souls was starting to abate, Jaime felt a gentle caress against her cheek and neck. She wanted to open her eyes, but it was as if they were welded shut. She _knew_ that touch; knew the sweet scent of perfume that was surrounding her.

_Thank you. _

The voice was so soft, like a whisper, or a thought in Jaime's own head, but she knew who it was. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she opened her mouth to speak, but then she felt a gentle kiss upon her forehead and finally succumbed to the dark pull of unconsciousness.


	19. Chapter 19

Feeling water splashing against her face, Jaime coughed and began to wake up, waving her hands in front of her face.

"Not the damn tank again. . ." She muttered bad-temperedly.

"What?"

At the sound of Sam's voice, her eyes snapped open and she sat up, hands flying to her neck. She remembered the feel of her mother's caress, and a slow smile crept across her face as she replayed the sound of her mom's voice in her head. It was as clear as day in her memory, and it filled her with a peace she had no recollection of ever feeling before.

Still smiling she turned and looked across the room to the pile of dust that had once been Jim Smith. Then she turned her eyes to the portrait. What was left of the canvas was now white, bereft of paint and design. Once the souls had been released, it had returned it its original state.

Placing a hand over her face, the raw skin on her wrists and the rivulets of dried blood attracting the brothers' eyes, Jaime started to laugh; quietly at first like hiccups, and then full bodied laughs that whooped out of her in the sound of genuine mirth.

Looking concerned, Sam crouched by her and stroked her hair back from her damp forehead.

"Jaime?"

Wiping at her eyes, she smiled up at Sam whilst pointing over at the where Jim had been, and trying to talk through the laughter.

"He was. . He was _Dorian Gray!_"

She collapsed into laughter once more, whilst Dean stood looking on, bemused, and whilst a small smile began to tug at the corners of Sam's mouth.

"You are crazy."

Jaime nodded, pushing her bangs from her eyes, and finally starting to calm down; feeling oddly light-hearted and pain free. The latter quickly ended as Sam helped her to her feet, her body beginning to complain at the rough treatment of earlier. She looked down at her raw wrists and winced, beginning to smile, though, as Sam started to check her all over for wounds. She looked over his head to Dean and smiled derisively, noticing how his own shoulders were shaking with laughter.

Frowning, she pushed Sam gently away and placed her hands on her hips as she turned to Dean.

"What? I doubt the Dorian Gray reference is this amusing to you."

Dean shook his head, leaning against the nearest sofa as he laughed. Eventually getting some kind of a grip on himself, he straightened up and gestured at Jaime's body.

"You wore _boxers_ under your ball gown!"

Looking down at her body, clothed only in a push-up bra and polka-dot boxers, Jaime frowned.

"Well, they're _comfy._"

And now both brothers were laughing at her, Sam reaching out to pull her close against him in a tight embrace, whilst she hugged him back, all the while mock-glaring at Dean as he doubled over with laughter.

Once they'd laughed away the tension that had been building over the last few hours, Jaime lent against the strong body of Sam whilst she gazed around the room, looking thoughtful. The sound of Dean's voice broke through her private reverie.

"We should check the place; make sure he wasn't hiding anyone away."

Jaime nodded. "He might even have some interesting supernatural items or tomes that might prove useful in the future."

Slotting the now empty revolver back into her thigh holster, she stretched, the movement causing her to catch Sam's eye. He was watching her with a hooded look, a small smile playing around the edges of his mouth.

"What?" Jaime couldn't help but ask.

He gestured at the thigh holster, sitting high and snug on her thigh.

"That's kinda hot."

Jaime blushed, dipping her head so she couldn't see the lascivious smile she knew was on Dean's face right now.

Taking Sam's hand and clearing her throat, she headed towards the double doors.

"My weapon choices aside, Sam, why don't we check out the second floor whilst Dean looks about down here?"

Dean nodded his agreement. "I think I saw a basement window on the way in, so I'll check that out too."

"Thanks." Jaime smiled at him before tugging on Sam's hand to lead him from the room.

Once out in the hall, Jaime looked at the front door that was still hanging open, waving in the wind. She peered out into the dark night for a moment, listening for any possible approaching vehicles, before closing it quietly and looking over at the wide staircase that curled upwards to the second storey. Jaime shivered a little, prompting Sam to shrug off his jacket and help her into it.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I should have offered earlier."

Jaime smiled at him tenderly.

"No, it's ok. Thank you."

He looped an arm gently around her waist as they made their way upstairs. The high walls were covered in art prints and watercolour portraits, and Jaime felt a chill rush through her at the sight of each of them. Although she knew it was unlikely that Jim's magic had extended to more than the one painting, she didn't think she could ever look at art in the same way again. Ever since she was a kid she'd felt like the people in paintings had a kind of genuine life to them, and now that she'd been witness to souls trapped inside artwork, well, it was time to remove any remaining paintings in her bedroom, she felt. She also made a mental note to call one of her psychic contacts so they could check out the place. She wasn't taking any chances.

Reaching the top of the stairs, they started wandering down the long hallway, stopping at each room to check inside for any questionable objects, or possible hidden rooms or compartments. Thankfully, they found no evidence of any other victims being kept on the upper floor, though Sam did stumble across a small box filled with what might have been a magical amulet. Jaime tucked it into Sam's jacket pocket for later inspection, and then the pair headed to the final room of the house.

It was huge, almost larger than the parlour downstairs, and most of it was taken up by a massive double bed and huge oak wardrobe, the front doors made entirely of mirrors. Jaime rolled her eyes when she spotted the mirrors on the ceiling above the bed and mused that vanity was probably what caused Jim to seek out his demonic magic in the first place.

As they were searching the room, Jaime came across a large wooden chest beneath the bed. Opening it carefully, Jaime ran her fingers over the old, varnished wood as she peered inside. It was filled with velvet and silk pouches that, when opened, tumbled out an assortment of items. Sorting through them all, Jaime noticed keys, notepads, personal journals, hair accessories, but mainly it was jewellery. Each pouch also contained a small card with a name, stapled to which were an assortment of photographs. Her throat closed with disgust and sadness as she realised that these were all trinkets, souvenirs, Jim had collected to remember each of his victims; to savour their deaths over and over again. Hands trembling slightly, Jaime sorted through each bag until she came to one filled only with a simple pendant and a single photograph. The name 'Meredith O'Flaherty' was typed across a small card, attached to which was the pendant; the chain tarnished with age. Jaime's fingers ran over the cool precious metal whilst her stomach clenched painfully. She could never forget this necklace, having last seen it resting against her mother's shrivelled corpse. Taking a deep breath, trying to remember the peace she'd felt earlier at the sound of her mother's voice and the feel of her caress, Jaime began to undo the clasp on the chain when Sam's fingers closed gently around her own. Lifting her thick hair off her shoulders, Jaime held herself perfectly still as Sam placed the pendant around her neck, his arms circling around her once he had finished, whilst she lifted a hand to her throat.

"You ok?"

His voice was soft and compassionate, and his dark hair brushed against her cheek as he rested his face next to hers. Jaime smiled.

"You know, I think I am, yes."

She inclined her head slightly so her lips were close to his, and they kissed gently as they knelt on the plush carpet. The kiss quickly deepening, Jaime turned into Sam's embrace when they heard an indiscreet cough from the doorway. Breaking apart to see Dean leaning against the doorframe with a half-smile on his face, Jaime pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, feeling a little flustered.

"Sorry to interrupt." Dean said, looking anything but apologetic. "But there was nothing of any worth downstairs, and no sign of any other victims."

Jaime gestured at the sprawl of items on the floor.

"Well, clearly we found something. They're items from each victim." She caressed them tenderly, sadly, as if she were stroking the faces of the victims themselves.

"I'd like to send them to the victim's families, even the ones from over a hundred years ago. It just feels like the right thing to do."

"And if we can't find the families?" Sam asked softly.

"Then we'll put them on their graves." Jaime's voice was determined. "It's time they went home."

"Speaking of home, lets get you there, Jaime. You've had a busy night." Dean's voice was friendly but firm, as if he expected her to argue. Smiling, Jaime allowed Sam to help her to her feet and the three headed down the staircase.

"That sounds like a very good idea."

Turning briefly at the front door to look back into the house that was now filled with memories for her, Jaime's voice was soft and tired.

"Take me home, boys."


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning, Jaime slid out from under Sam's arm causing him to mutter and roll over in his sleep, before she slipped on her dressing gown and padded silently down the stairs. Thankfully, her uncle Scott had had a business meeting out of town the night before and having had too much to drink had stayed over in a hotel for the night, meaning he had no idea of the drama that had unfolded in his absence, saving Jaime from lying to him. Right now, she wasn't sure she was in any fit state to come up with an adequate lie, or even pretend to him that everything was fine.

Pushing open the kitchen door, Jaime blinked in surprise at the sight of Dean sitting freshly showered and wide awake at the table. He smiled at her knowingly as she entered, and she scowled as she headed towards the coffeepot.

"Y'know, if you keep looking this smug all the time, you're going to get wrinkles."

He laughed, getting up so he could put some waffles into the toaster for her, and reaching across easily for his own mug of java.

"So, how are you feeling this morning? I see you have a nice shiner there."

Jaime gingerly pressed the large, swollen bruise on her left cheekbone and winced.

"Oh yeah. You'd never believe I was a beauty contest finalist, huh?" She shook her head and through Dean a half smile as she slid into one of the counter chairs.

"Jim told me he rigged the contest, you know. I always knew I couldn't win on my own."

Dean shrugged, looking nonplussed.

"Who cares? There's nothing hotter than a woman who knows how to fight." He took a sip of his coffee, and added almost as an afterthought. "And looks as good as you do in skin-tight jeans."

Jaime laughed, grabbing the waffles from the toaster as they popped and licking her fingers afterwards, savouring the sweet taste. Perching on her chair once more, she pushed some of the waffles onto Dean's plate before she poured syrup on her own and started to eat. After a while, she looked up to see Dean watching her, and slowly she lowered her fork, looking bemused.

"What?"

His eyes gazed into her own.

"So, now that the monster is dead, are you still who you thought you were?"

Jaime paused then sighed, wiping at her mouth with a napkin before wrapping her suddenly cold fingers around her coffee mug.

"I think it's too soon to tell. I guess I feel less aimless than I expected, and more relieved, but I have so much free time now, and no purpose. So where do I go from here?" She sighed. "And what with the Sam thing. . ."

Dean quirked an amused eyebrow.

"The 'Sam thing'?"

Jaime hunched her shoulders and looked darkly thoughtful.

"Well, it's not going to work, is it? Not when you two have your own monster to fight."

She smiled at him then reached out a hand to cover his on the tabletop.

"Thanks for agreeing to help me, Dean."

The smile slowly faded from his face and his eyes grew serious but before he could speak, a sleep-tousled Sam entered the room, kissing the top of Jaime's head before falling into a seat and nabbing one of her waffles.

Jaime swatted at him playfully, the tension of the last few minutes forgotten as he smiled at her, his eyes dark with sleep.

Rising to grab him some juice, Jaime squeezed Sam's shoulder tenderly as a sad sense of foreboding filled her. She'd always known they would have to leave, of course, and she'd been well aware of that when she'd allowed herself to fall for Sam. Or, at least, to _admit_ she'd fallen for him. But now the moment was here, she didn't want to let him go. It seemed somehow unfair to finally end one era of her life, only to have the possibility of a new, positive one taken away from her. Squaring her shoulders and trying not to let the grief overwhelm her, Jaime placed the juice before Sam before leaning against the kitchen counter.

"So, what's the plan, boys? I imagine you'll have to be leaving soon."

Sam's eyes darkened and he looked to Dean, that small gesture making Jaime's heart ache even more. Even when she knew he wanted to stay more than anything, he looked to Dean for approval.

Dean pushed his plate away and swallowed his mouthful of waffle ad coffee, before leaning back in his chair, looking relaxed.

"Actually, I got a hold of dad this morning, and he mentioned that he wanted us to collect some information from an old friend of his. He's on the other side of the country, so I'm looking at a long drive here; maybe a week altogether with plenty of stops to check out the local scene." He grinned wickedly, and Jaime couldn't help but smile at his cheek.

"And I was thinking that since this is just a boring mission for information, no hunting, well, why don't I just go whilst you stay here, Sam?"

At his brother's shocked looked, Dean smiled.

"I could take it easy, maybe make a mini vacation out of the travel; stretch it out to two weeks, whilst you stay here. With Jaime."

Jaime's heart beat faster and she tried desperately to keep the naked hope and want from her face. She knew that eventually Sam would have to leave, of course, knowing exactly what it was like to be driven by a need of revenge and a sense of responsibility.

Sam gazed at the tabletop with dark, troubled eyes before glancing quickly at Jaime and then turning his eyes to Dean.

"You're sure this trip is all business; no hunting?"

Dean stretched, looking relaxed.

"Nothing but dull information gathering, and plenty of late-night fun."

A slow smile began to creep across Sam's face until he was beaming openly, the honest smile making him look young and boyish.

"Well, ok then."

Jaime beamed, leaning down around his shoulders to hug him tightly and taking the chance to whisper softly into his ear. "I promise you won't regret it."

Straightening, Jaime looked to Dean.

"When do you intend to head out?"

He stood with a small stretch and a cocky tilt of the head.

"Why? Eager to be rid of me?"

At Jaime's genuinely shocked expression, he laughed.

"I'm just playing, J. I do, in fact, intend to leave this morning. I just need to finish loading the car, and then I'm done."

Knowing that the brothers would need to discuss a few things in private, Jaime nodded, offering her assistance in anyway, before excusing herself. She waited in the living room, her heart feeling light in her chest, until she heard movement in the hall and padded out to see Dean loading up the Impala.

Stepping out into the California sunshine, Jaime watched Dean silently, a thoughtful look on her face. Once he'd finished lifting the last bag into the trunk, Dean turned to her with a lazy smile.

"I guess you finished sorting things out with Sam, right?"

He nodded. "He's a little anxious at us being separated, but I can tell how happy he is to have the chance to stay. To vacation, and get to know you better."

Jaime nodded and looked away, staring out at the pale blue sky for a moment before turning back to Dean with a small sigh.

"I don't know what to say, Dean, other than 'thank you'".

He smiled, shrugging his shoulders gracefully.

"That's enough."

Jaime shook her head, stepping closer to him and looking into his eyes honestly.

"It doesn't feel like it. If you hadn't agreed to help me, I probably wouldn't have survived this particular hunt, and if it wasn't for you whooping my ass, I wouldn't have given things a shot with Sam."

"Well, don't thank me too much for the latter; I'm still a little sore I was second best."

Jaime chuckled and punched him on the arm gently.

"Hey, you had your chance!"

He smiled.

"That I did."

They looked at each other as time stretched onwards and then Jaime stepped forwards and enveloped him in a close hug.

"When you come back in two weeks to collect Sam, it won't just be him I miss when you both leave."

Dean gave her a tender squeeze before letting her go and smiling into your eyes.

"Remember that night on the road, when I said you'd never be alone? I meant it, Jaime. We're only ever a phonecall away." He shrugged. "Ok, and probably an epic drive, too, but you know what I mean."

Jaime laughed.

"That I do, yes."

Dean opened the Impala door and slid into the driver's seat. Jaime closed the door for him and smiled down into his eyes as he rested his elbow our the window and gazed up at her.

"And once you start hunting again, maybe you can repay the favour."

Jaime laughed. "Oh, so you know I'll get back into the business?" Her voice was light with irony.

He nodded, giving her that now familiar cocky grin.

"Jaime, I've seen you fight. I know you. You'll be back slaughtering nasties in no time,"

She laughed, leaning down to kiss his cheek before remembering something from last night, and reaching into her robe's pocket.

"I've been meaning to give this to you." She handed him the amulet they'd found back at Jim's house the night before. "Get your information guy to check it out, ok? It might be useful for future hunts."

He nodded, slipping the amulet into the glove-box easily.

"Now, get out of here, you! I'll see you in two weeks." Jaime grinned and tapped the side of the Impala lightly with an open palm.

Smiling, Dean put the car into reverse to back out, before pulling away from the house with a small spray of gravel. He called out of the window as he drove off.

"Say bye to Sammy for me!"

And then he was gone.

Jaime wrapped her arms around herself, a small smile on her face as she breathed in the crisp morning air, slightly salty from the sea breeze travelling inwards. Then she turned back to the house, her footsteps light.

He might have to leave her life in two weeks, possibly for good, but Jaime had been given the chance to prove to Sam that there was something worthwhile to come back to; something worth living for once his own monster was dead, once his own battle was over.

And Jaime had every intention of taking full advantage of that.

The End.


End file.
